


Bring Him Home

by Demonicputto



Series: By My Side [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Crush, precocious crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 90,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonicputto/pseuds/Demonicputto
Summary: It has been six years since Aziraphale became human so that he could keep a watchful eye over a reincarnated Crowley. He’s kept “Tony” safe from dangers, both human and occult, made sure he was cared for, been his closest friend, and done it all while contending with his own trials of growing up. But now, Tony is on the cusp of adolescence and Aziraphale is finally nearing adulthood. Change awaits them both and Aziraphale is haunted by one thought: How much longer will Tony really need him?(Updates every Wednesday)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: By My Side [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654357
Comments: 546
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to part 4 of the "By My Side" series. 
> 
> To those of you who are new: Hi! This fic should be able to stand on its own, but if you find yourself enjoying it, I would suggest going back to the beginning of the series. 
> 
> To those of you who are returning: Hi! Welcome back. It'll be a couple chapters before Tony's PoV returns. The little guy has some secrets to keep first.

September 2002

Aziraphale had watched the gentle dance of changing seasons over 6,000 times since the world had been made. In some eras, in some places, the year had organized itself around the rains and the rivers. In others, in the place where he’d most found himself at home, the sun and the warmth and the plants that depended on them marked the march of time. No matter where or how the seasons changed, however, he’d watched the humans learn to navigate the world that transformed around them. He’d learned to navigate that world too, alongside and apart from them- an observer who walked the earth without fully being of it.

Or at least that was how it had been until roughly six years prior.

That was when, in every way but mind and memory, Aziraphale had become a nine-year-old boy. It had been his choice, technically, a sacrifice he’d made so that he could keep an eye on Crowley. Crowley had become human entirely. He’d been born, grown from infancy, had no memory of what he’d once been. When Aziraphale had followed after him, he’d been living in dire straits. His father had been cruel, his mother struggling with substance abuse.

But that had been six years ago. Things were better now, exponentially so. There were times when Aziraphale doubted if Crowley even needed him around anymore. He couldn’t leave though, even if he’d wanted to. He was only fifteen and his adoptive parents would have had more than a little to say about the matter.

So, Aziraphale sat on the stoop of the home he shared with his parents in southern Connecticut and watched the turning seasons from a more human perspective. Autumn had newly arrived and, though the trees had yet to change their colors, a nipping briskness tinged the air. For the first time in months it felt appropriate to take a hot mug of tea out of doors and Aziraphale had his set beside him on the stair.

In his lap, its poor spine already broken, sat an open copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest_. He felt a little badly for the way he’d treated it, but this was no first edition and it had not been signed by the author. It was an acting script and the only name inside it was his own. On the inside cover, in his drama teacher’s handwriting, it said: _Ezra Fell- Stage Manager_. It was a role he’d taken on since freshman year. It gave him a certain degree of influence within Westwich High School’s drama club and he’d used all of it to persuade Mr. Velasquez to choose an Oscar Wilde play. He did not regret this.

After a long sip of tea and a deep breath of autumn air, he turned his eyes back to the script ready to take more notes on necessary props. He was not at this long before the sound of whistling interrupted his work. Aziraphale smiled as he looked up. He did not recognize the song but he knew the whistler before he came into view.

Coming around the corner of the church, where Aziraphale’s adoptive father served as pastor, was a thin eleven year old boy. His face, heavily freckled after a long summer and smudged with dirt from his morning activities, lit up when he noticed Aziraphale. He immediately broke into a run, stopping only when he was just in front of the steps.

“Hey, angel, watcha’ doing?”

“Nothing of immediate importance.” Aziraphale closed the script to give the boy his full attention. “How did this morning go?”

“How’s it look?” He pulled a few five dollar bills from his pocket and grinned. Anthony, for that was what Aziraphale called him in this form, seemed exceedingly pleased with himself. It was odd, sometimes, to watch him smile like that. Aziraphale had mostly made peace with the fact that the Crowley in his memories and the boy that he’d become were not entirely the same person. But that impish grin, long familiar, made that difference easy to forget.

Anthony shoved the money back into the pocket of his jeans. “Mrs. Holmes gave me lunch too so it was pretty good for a few hours work. She’s real nice… I just wish she’d talk a little less. I kept hoping she’d go inside and let me plant stuff in quiet.”

“What did she have you planting this time of year?” Aziraphale asked in confusion. He’d miracled his way through his stint as Brother Francis and hadn’t a clue about gardening.

“Daffodils, I think?” Anthony settled onto the step by Aziraphale’s side. “I dunno. They were bulbs. She said my mom told her they needed to be planted in the fall. I didn’t ask questions.”

“Just in it for the money, then?”

There was a touch of mischief to the boy’s laughter. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale could not have pinned down exactly when it had begun but, sometime in the last year or so, Anthony had developed quite an interest in earning money. Lord new what he intended to do with any of it. Aziraphale had not seen him spend a cent.

“Were you working on your show?” Anthony asked, gesturing to the script on Aziraphale’s knee. “Is it another English one?”

“Mmm? Oh, uh, yes. Well, sort of. The playwright was Irish, but he lived in London at the time and it was English society that he was taking a jab at with his satire here.” Suddenly Aziraphale thought to be offended. “What do you mean _another_? Freshman year’s show was English but last year we did _Our Town_. That’s an American classic.”

Anthony’s smile was relaxed, as though he were amused by Aziraphale’s raised hackles. “I didn’t mean anything by it, angel. Honest. Only I was gonna ask if everyone’s accents were bothering you. I know that happened last time. It made you miss home a little, didn’t it?”

The smile was gone by the time he’d finished, the expression replaced by an earnest raising of the eyebrows. Aziraphale softened. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll get the accents close enough by November. It’s early days yet.”

The door behind them creaked and they both turned as Edith Clark, Aziraphale’s adoptive mother, stepped out of the house. Her round face relaxed when she saw him, “There you are, Ez. I thought you were still up in your room.”

“No, I stepped out to enjoy the weather. Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually. Also, Hi Tony! I didn’t know you were back yet.” He waved before she turned back to Aziraphale. “You know your Dad and I are going out this afternoon with Pastor Harvey and his wife?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Right. So, she just called and their babysitter had to cancel. They’re having trouble finding someone on short notice. Would you be interested? They’re offering ten bucks an hour and the kids will be asleep through part of it.”

“Er, um, I, well, that is… I’d rather not. I’m not much good with little children.” Aziraphale told her, aware that he’d gone pale.

Edith’s face fell. “Are you sure? You were always so great with Tony.”

“I’m not that much younger than him!” Anthony insisted.

“Exactly,” Aziraphale said. “Pastor Harvey brought his children to Youth Group once. The younger is only three years old!”

“Alright. If you’re that sure…” He almost wished she would have pushed. He’d have found it preferable to the guilt of her disappointment. “I bet they can find someone else.”

“Wait. What about me? I’ll do it.” Tony hopped to his feet. “I mean, you guys are going to some talk and then to dinner, right? At ten bucks an hour? Sign me up!”

Edith looked at him with pity. “Sorry, honey. Eleven just isn’t old enough to be put in charge of younger kids.”

“But Mom lets me stay in our apartment by myself now!”

“That’s not the same as taking care of others, especially since we’re right next door.”

Anthony, so excited not a moment before, became an immediate ball of gloom. He sunk back onto the stoop in dramatic disappointment. He lolled his head back against the banister and sighed so heavily it must have taken a physical effort.

Before Aziraphale or Edith could decide on the proper reaction to this, he’d lit up again and popped back to his feet. “Okay but, hear me out, what if Ezra and I babysat together?”

“Excuse me? What?” Aziraphale asked.

“Like what if we went over together? We could split the money fifty-fifty. I’ll take care of the kids and you can read or something, but you’ll still be there to like, use the oven or call emergency services or whatever.” He turned back to Edith. “Don’t you think that would be alright?”

She nodded. “If Ezra agrees, I’ll call the Wilsons back and see if they’d be okay with it. To me it seems like a great compromise.”

Anthony clasped his hands together. “Pleeease, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Alright.”

He wasn’t much good at saying ‘no’ to Anthony.

* * *

Pastor Harvey Wilson lived many towns away, where property was cheaper, in a neighborhood that had been built by one company without much imagination. The homes that passed by outside the windows of the Clarks’ minivan were all nearly identical, from their trimly cut lawns to the same three greyish colors chosen for their vinyl siding. The cars, the basketball hoops, and the flags hanging outside their doors were all very much the same too.

Although the flags certainly weren’t unique to this area. There’d always been a fair few of them around but they’d popped up everywhere the previous September.

“Here we are, number 78!” Elijah announced as he pulled the car into a long driveway. “You boys ready for the job?”

“ ‘Course we are,” Anthony told him. He looked every bit as confident as he sounded, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder the moment he could disembark. Exactly why he thought a guitar was a childcare necessity, Aziraphale didn’t know. He only wished he could be that sure of himself. He envied Anthony’s reincarnation based amnesia. It meant he’d forgotten Warlock’s eleventh birthday.

Still, Aziraphale had agreed to this and there was no backing out now. He drew himself up to his nearly full height and followed Anthony and the Clarks to the front door. They stood a moment, waiting in awkward silence after the doorbell was rung, until Pastor Harvey made an appearance. He stood, suit jacket not yet on, tie hung loose around his neck, and gave them a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, we’ll be ready in just a minute.” He turned to a small girl who was clinging to his leg. “Can you go tell Mama that the Clarks are here?”

She gave the visitors a distrusting glance before nodding and scurrying off into the depths of the house.

“Right, so you can all come in. Leah should be down in just a sec.” He led the way into their kitchen. It was a sizable space that appeared to have been designed with all top of the line appliances and then not updated since sometime in the 1980s. Pastor Harvey gestured to the counter where a detailed note had been left beside a bowl of fruit. “So, Ezra, oh and Tony, here are the emergency numbers, bedtimes, a list of where in the house you can find certain things, all that good stuff. The kids are used to having dinner around five-thirty and we put them down for bed at about seven. We should be back with your parents around nine or so.”

Although he’d said Anthony’s name, Pastor Harvey had clearly been speaking to Aziraphale. Anthony took this in stride.

“What should we give them for dinner?” he asked, tone dripping with professionalism.

Pastor Harvey found this amusing. “We’ll leave you some money for pizza.”

“Pizza? For your precious children? You know Ezra here can cook, right? If you’ve got ingredients I’m sure he can whip up something nutritious. That’s part of the service our team provides.” Aziraphale gawked at him. They had not discussed this.

“I think it’s got to be pizza. The kids are already expecting it.” Anthony shrugged at the youth pastor’s explanation. Harvey turned toward Aziraphale as something occurred to him. “If you’d like to though, we do have ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Hannah loves to help make them.”

“Oh! That actually sounds rather lovely.” Aziraphale’s surprised delight was earnest. This lessened, somewhat, when Hannah, the same girl of six or so who’d been clinging to her father’s leg, came into the room. As her father introduced her, she glared at Aziraphale from under her heavy blond fringe.

Her mother followed a minute a later wearing a much cheerier expression. “So sorry for making everyone wait!”

She was dressed to the nines for their evening out, although the look was undercut by the crying toddler perched on one hip. She was also carrying a man’s suit jacket which she handed off to her husband. The toddler, much to Aziraphale’s horror, she handed to him. “This is Tommy and I see you’ve already met Hannah. Did Harv give you the run down yet?”

Stunned and staring at the child held in his outstretched arms, Aziraphale nodded.

“Great! So dinner by six at the latest, here’s some money for pizza.” This, Anthony took. “Bedtime by-”

“I already told them everything, dear. We’re going to be late for the talk if we don’t hurry up.”

“Right. Right. Tommy is only crying because he thinks that will stop us from leaving. Hannah knows where everything is. You can eat what you want from the fridge. And feel free to use the TV.”

This was followed by a whirlwind of goodbyes and kisses between parents and children, including one from Edith on Aziraphale’s cheek. He was still in shock when the adults had all gone out the door.

“Tommy doesn’t like you and I don’t like you either,” Hannah announced over her screaming brother. “You’re not my parents. You’re not even my regular baby sitter. I don’t gotta listen to either of you.”

Then she fled up the stairs, followed only by the sound of a slamming door.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “She’s probably just up in her room. Let’s take care of this guy first.”

He held his arms out and Aziraphale gratefully handed the child over. Tommy, who was three years old, was a hefty little fellow and Aziraphale was briefly concerned that Anthony would be unable to hold him. He did seem to struggle a bit, but he smiled through it.

“Hey there, Tommy. Are you worried about your parents?”

The toddler sniffed, then nodded.

“Well, you don’t gotta be. They just went out to have some boring grown up fun and they’ll be back before you wake up in the morning. And you know what?” Anthony said the last part in a conspiratorial whisper. Tommy shook his head, intrigued. “We’re going to have WAY more fun without them. How’s that sound?”

“Good.”

“Awesome! We just need to get your sister to come out of her room. Any ideas what she’d like to do?” At this point, Anthony’s skinny arms gave out and he was forced to put the smaller boy on his feet. Tommy didn’t seem to mind now that he had calmed himself. He put a chubby finger in his mouth and smiled.

“Hannah likes movies.”

Taking the hand that was not currently dripping with saliva, Anthony led Tommy toward the stairs. He paused only to turn back toward Aziraphale. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Right. Right of course.” He didn’t know why he was needed though. He hadn’t been any help in the last exchange.

“What’s in the bag?” Tommy asked as he tottered unevenly up the stairs, saved only by Anthony’s grip.

“Oh. That’s my guitar. I’ll play something for you later if you want. Now which of these doors is your sister’s room?” Aziraphale almost answered for him, after all the name ‘Hannah’ was written out on one of the doors in underwater themed lettering. It occurred to him, as the toddler pointed, that Anthony must have noticed and was just trying to include Tommy.

Anthony knocked on the door. “Hey, Hannah. We were going to watch a movie before dinner. You want to help us choose?”

A voice, filled with muffled injustice, came from the other side. “My regular baby sitter would already know my favorite movie.”

Eye to eye with the oceanic theming of her name plate, Anthony answered, “Is it _The Little Mermaid_?”

There was a pause.

“What do _you_ know about _The Little Mermaid_? You’re just a boy.”

Aziraphale felt as though he ought to do something but he could not decide what and wound up twisting his hands together. Anthony was not so confounded. He settled himself onto the floor of the hallway, directing Tommy to sit beside him, and undid the clasps of his guitar case.

“This is super fragile so you gotta be careful near it, but I’ll play a song. Okay?” Tommy nodded, deeply enthusiastic, as Anthony took a moment to make sure everything was in tune. As the song took form, Anthony began to sing.

_“Look at this stuff. Isn’t it neat?_

_Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete?_

_Wouldn’t you think I’m the girl,_

_The girl who has everything?”_

Aziraphale did not recognize the song but Hannah, it appeared, did. As though Anthony were the Pied Piper, her door squeaked open and she came to sit beside him. Her eyes were wide with wonder as the song became unexpectedly apropos.

_“I wanna be where the people are_

_I wanna see wanna see them dancin’_

_Walking around on those- what do you call them?”_

“Feet!” Squealed Tommy. Anthony laughed and continued on. By the time he had finished both the children and Aziraphale were utterly rapt.

“So, do I know enough to watch the movie with you?” Anthony asked, only a touch smug.

“You sing real good!” Hannah told him. “We could, we could, play the movie instead of watching it. I’ll be Ariel and Tommy’ll be Flounder and you could be everyone else. Except when there’s songs you can do all the songs for everybody.”

“What about Ezra?” Anthony asked.

The smaller children turned to Aziraphale, both clearly having forgotten he existed until that precise moment. Hannah frowned. “I don’t think he knows _The Little Mermaid_.”

“I know the Hans Christian Andersen story. Although I must say it’s a surprisingly gloomy choice for a Disney film. I didn’t think they’d get darker than that fox and dog picture. Considering that at the end she-”

Over the children’s heads, Anthony shook his head voraciously. Aziraphale had read him all the Hans Christian Andersen stories a few years back; he knew what was coming.

“Oh well, I suppose they must have made changes to it. Why don’t you three play without me then?” Hannah and Tommy seemed happy enough with this. Hannah immediately began to shout orders like some sort of pocket sized Hollywood director as Aziraphale retreated down the stairs.

Aziraphale did precisely three things of value over the next few hours: he ordered pizza, paid for the pizza, and baked cookies. Even that last bit he had to do by himself as Hannah was too enraptured by her games with Anthony to bother helping. He stood in front of the oven, morosely scraping dough out of the nearly empty bowl as he watched cookies rise. This was the best case scenario, wasn’t it? Some time to himself while Anthony kept their charges busy. There was nothing whatever he needed to be glum about.

No, everything was going smoothly. Anthony got the children to sit in their seats during dinner and showed them how to dunk their cookies during dessert. He had them run races around the backyard to burn off the energy and even persuaded them to head upstairs right on schedule.

Aziraphale had thought he might be needed then, when Hannah and Tommy would put up a fuss. He even bothered to head back upstairs to lend a hand, but that turned out to be unnecessary. Hannah eagerly changed into her _The Little Mermaid_ nightgown all on her own so that she could show it off while Anthony helped Tommy into his own pair of pajamas. With the promise of a bedtime song he even got them to brush their teeth.

So back Aziraphale went, down the steps, to the empty first floor where he collapsed on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps there was something in the unspinning blades of the overhead fan that could help him sort out his feelings.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Anthony didn’t need him and, even if he was going to be surprised, he oughtn’t have been disappointed. He’d been through this before at varying points throughout the last six years. Ever since Anthony had been reunited with his mother, Aziraphale’s presence had been less necessary and it only seemed to be truer as the years passed (demonic interventions aside). He’d gotten used to the idea though, had found ways to pass his time stuck in this form.

What then made tonight feel different?

Perhaps it was something to do with the younger children. Watching Anthony interact with them made him seem oddly grown up, though he was only eleven himself. It reminded Aziraphale that a day was coming when, not only would Anthony not need him, he wouldn’t need any of the adults in their life either.

Across the distance of the otherwise silent house, Aziraphale heard Anthony singing the same song as before. The children, it would seem, had no appreciation for variety. He listened, thoughtful. It really was odd how on point the lyrics were.

_“When’s it my turn?_

_Wouldn’t I love,_

_Love to explore that shore up above?_

_Out of the sea_

_Wish I could be_

_Part of that world.”_

And when Anthony’s voice went quiet and the only sound was the closing of a bedroom door and feet padding down the stairs, something new occurred to Aziraphale. There might be a time when his presence was, not merely unnecessary, but an actual hindrance.

Crowley had chosen humanity, had wanted a chance to live among them, to live _as_ one of them. If Aziraphale were there, guiding and nudging him into decisions with all his knowledge of their past lives, then it wasn’t really Free Will, was it? When he’d seen Anthony through to adulthood perhaps he would need to step away.

“Man, little kids are exhausting!” Anthony announced as he entered the room. Aziraphale, lost in his thoughts, nearly jumped out of his skin.

He held a hand to his heart as he recovered, “Oh! Well, you didn’t seem to be having any trouble with them. I dare say they practically worshipped you by bedtime.” 

“Oh, I didn’t have any trouble with them, angel, but they were still a lot of work.” The pretense of professional maturity he’d worn all evening fell away, and he curled up on the couch beside Aziraphale like some sort of cat or a much younger child. He yawned and then gave Aziraphale a sleepy grin. “I knew I could do it.”

Aziraphale smiled back, anxieties lost for the moment in hopeless fondness. “I’ll be certain to make sure credit is duly given. _I_ certainly don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t say that. I mean, the cookies were good.”

“I’ll be sure to send your compliments to the Nestle company so they know the recipe on the back of their chocolate chips has been appreciated.” Anthony glared at him, but more with annoyed exhaustion than actual malice. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, “What if I told you taking the credit meant a larger split of the wages? You did more work than me, Anthony, you ought to have more of the reward.”

The boy’s eyes went wide and his pupils darted sideways as he gave the prospect some thought. “I mean… If giving me more of the money makes you _feel_ better… I’m not gonna say no.”

“It would.” With that settled, Anthony relaxed again, putting his head into Aziraphale’s lap. “What _are_ you planning to do with all that money anyway, you silly thing?”

Anthony’s eyes were closed, but he managed a cheeky smile anyway. “It’s a secret.”

There was no use asking any further. Though it wasn’t yet eight ‘o’ clock, Anthony shortly dozed off, his morning in the garden and his evening with the children having done him in entirely.

It was a good thing, then, that Aziraphale had come after all. Someone had to stay awake to keep a watchful eye over all the little ones, Anthony included. Looking down at his face, even softer in sleep and devoid of all the angles it would gain in adulthood, Aziraphale decided to put aside his worries. They would keep for now. Anthony was a child yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of an emotional roller coaster.  
> I don't /think/ it needs any chapter specific tags/warnings but just in case:
> 
> Discussions of drug use
> 
> Also for those of you out of the loop on your theater slang. The week before a show opens is known as either Hell Week or Tech Week, depending on whether you're talking to someone who is easily offended or not.

November 2002

Aziraphale had done his own baking before, he’d occasionally put together simple meals when Edith was busy, and he’d acted as her sous chef on more than one occasion. Tonight though, for the first time, he’d done a whole meal from scratch. It was only ravioli but he’d done it all by hand, making use of a pasta maker that had been given to the Clarks when they’d gotten married and never taken out of the box.

It was probably silly for him to be proud, but he was nonetheless.

Elijah and Edith had praised him after their first bites but the truest compliment had come when they’d asked for seconds and scraped up the left over butter sauce with the edges of their forks. They were starting on dessert now (brownies, sometimes simple was best) and Elijah leaned forward in his seat.

“I know we haven’t talked much about college yet but, just to put it out there, you might want to look into some culinary programs.” Aziraphale was not entirely surprised by this suggestion. Elijah often had distinct ideas about genders and who ought to do what. Home cooking might be feminine but becoming a professional chef wasn’t.

Aziraphale ignored this aspect of the suggestion. He’d gotten very good at ignoring uncomfortable conversations over his millennia serving heaven and often put those skills to use when interacting with the Clarks. “Oh, I really haven’t put much thought into university just yet. I thought that might be more of a summertime discussion.”

“You should think about it a little before then though, honey,” Edith told him. “That way we can maybe plan some campus tours when you’re off from school.”

Aziraphale gave a noncommittal smile and moved his head in a way that could not quite be categorized as a shake or a nod. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the prospect of further education. On the one hand, he’d always admired scholars and envied them their hallowed halls of learning. Getting to participate in high minded literary discussions and take classes with brilliant professors was the stuff of dreams. On the other hand, perhaps he ought to choose somewhere not so grand- somewhere close that wouldn’t cost so much money and wouldn’t result in so much change. On the third hand that he might have manifested if he currently had his powers, perhaps by then Anthony would be ready for him to leave.

In the end, he simply didn’t want to think about any of it. Aziraphale changed the subject.

“Oh, this coming week is hell- er, is tech week for the school production. Since the rehearsals have been after dinner, it’s probable we’ll have some rather late nights. Rachel has offered to give me a ride to and from, so you needn’t wait up.”

Edith frowned. “I wish your drama teacher still had the rehearsals after school. I liked that better. You know I’ll stay up worrying until you’re back, no matter what.”

“His son is over a year old now and I think Mr. Velasquez didn’t only want to be home when the boy is asleep. This way he can spend more time with him.”

“Oh!” Edith melted immediately. “That makes perfect sense.”

Elijah, meanwhile, had taken something else away from what Aziraphale had said. “That reminds me, buddy. I know next weekend is out because of the show and it won’t be open tomorrow because it’s Sunday, but afterward we should get you to the DMV so you can take the test for your Learner’s Permit.”

The blood drained from Aziraphale’s face. “Why… why did that remind you?”

“You said Rachel is dropping you off, right? That means she’s already got her license. I know your birthday is pretty late in the year, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get the ball rolling. You turned sixteen a few weeks ago. It’s time to get your permit.”

“But I… well, that is… It’s nearly winter and I’m sure, with the roads the way they’ll be, it wouldn’t make much sense for me to start learning under such circumstances. It might be dangerous.” He had no particular reason to be so nervous about the prospect of driving. Humans did it all the time, particularly in the States. Somehow, it still felt wrong. Crowley drove. Aziraphale did not. That had been the order of things since automobiles had come into the world.

Elijah’s smiled, gentle and touch patronizing. “You should still get the permit, even if we don’t start practicing right away. It’s at least six months between getting the permit and being able to take the driver’s exam. We’ll get the permit first and we can talk about the rest later. Alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, miserable. He would have done anything to move the conversation elsewhere. He could already see Edith leaning forward out of the corner of his eye and he did not want to hear a speech about growing up.

Then Maddy Jay, God bless her, walked into the house without knocking.

Both Jay’s had a tendency to treat the Clarks’ house as though it were an extension of their own, which was somewhat fair given both the manse and the Jay apartment were located on church property. Still, Maddy usually knocked before entering, even if she didn’t wait very long for a response.

The front door was visible from the kitchen table where the Clarks were gathered, and they waved for her to join them. Edith, as was her wont, had a brownie cut and plated before Maddy had even closed the door behind her.

“Is everything alright?” Aziraphale asked. Maddy did not seem quite herself. She was restless, eyes darting about as she worried her lip with her teeth. There were shades of the anxious woman she’d been when they’d first met, back when she was under the thumb of her abusive husband.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said, forcing a chuckle. “I just, I wanted to ask if you guys noticed anything… weird going on with Tony.”

“Um, nothing off the top of my head.” Elijah stood, taking his dessert with him and gestured for Maddy to take his chair. “Is something going on?”

“Again, I’m probably being ridiculous, but I got a call from one of the teachers at Tony’s school yesterday. Apparently he’s been falling asleep in class often enough that multiple teachers have noticed and it’s kind of become a pattern. I mean, he’s almost twelve, it might just be that he’s heading for growth spurt or something and needs more rest than he’s been getting but I... I just wanted to check and see if you noticed anything.” She ended with pleading eyes on Aziraphale. If anyone knew what was wrong with Anthony, it was bound to be him.

But nothing sprang to mind.

“Have you talked to Tony about it?” Edith asked.

“Yeah, I did just now. I figured dinner was a good time but I couldn’t get anything out of him. He just sort of brushed it off at first and then he got a little frustrated when I pushed. He doesn’t think he should have to be talked to about being tired, not when his grades are fine and he’s staying out of trouble. I don’t know. If there’s nothing else going on I guess I’ll bring him to the doctor or something. Make sure he’s not sick. Ezra, you haven’t noticed any other changes?”

Aziraphale frowned. “The only thing I can think of that’s been at all different is the whole money situation.” Maddy raised an eyebrow, so he went into more detail. “Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed him asking for odd jobs fairly often, all the more, it seems to me, since the school year started. Perhaps he’s simply tired out?”

“I guess that could be it. I’ve only really let him do stuff on the weekend though. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to bed early tonight. I think he raked every lawn on the street today, but I don’t know why that would make him so sleepy at school.”

“I honestly don’t know. He might also just be staying up too late listening to something on his headset. That wouldn’t surprise me. I mean, what is he doing right now?”

Maddy laughed. “He’s in his room listening to music. You’re probably right. I’ll just make sure his CD player stays where I can see it at bedtime.”

To Aziraphale it seemed the situation had all been solved and he contentedly reached for a second brownie. As he bit it, however, he noticed the Clarks were staring meaningfully at one another and had both gone very pale. Maddy, it seemed, had noticed this too. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

Edith turned to Aziraphale, voice sober. “Has Tony told you why he needs money?”

“No? He said it was a secret.”

The Clarks both shook their heads in solemn understanding. Elijah cleared his throat. “Edith, because of her education course and I because my ministry work, we’ve both learned a lot about some signs that can be worrying in teenagers…”

Aziraphale immediately decided that whatever followed ought to be taken with a grain of salt.

Edith reached across the table and lay a hand on Maddy’s fore arm. “A change in how tired he is, becoming more secretive, changes in behavior, a sudden need for money, those could all be signs of possible drug use.”

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold, but only for a moment. Maddy, who had more experience in that matter than anyone else in the room, did not appear convinced. “I mean, I know when _I_ started using in high school, and I wasn’t even doing that much at that point, I would beg my friends for parts of their lunches at school so I could keep my lunch money or take cash out of my parents’ wallets. I didn’t, like, start organizing lawn work opportunities with my neighbors. And, other than being a bit more of a go-getter, there really haven’t been any major behavior changes.”

“Any new friend groups since he started school?” Elijah asked.

Maddy shook her head. “He’s got the same couple of school friends that he occasionally hangs out with and very clearly doesn’t like as much as Ezra. I mean, one of his friends has a cool older brother that Tony occasionally talks about. But he mostly talks about the kids’ electric guitar so… I don’t think that counts as a friendship.”

“Well, I suppose we should all just keep an eye on him,” Edith said. “Hopefully it’s just a growth spurt like you said. But um, Maddy if you could tell us if his grades change at all and Ezra if he says anything unusual to you… I think if we all make sure to rally around him, whatever’s going on he’ll be okay.”

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t worry any further about Anthony and his new sleeping habits. After all, the boy seemed very much himself when he saw him on Sunday afternoon and when the school week began again there was no time to worry about anything at all.

Between school and his evening rehearsals, he’d sit with Anthony while they both did their homework at the Clarks’ kitchen table. Aziraphale saw no change in the boy’s work ethic. When he found a topic interesting he went above and beyond, when he found it boring he did as little as possible. It wasn’t fantastic but it wasn’t new either. That’s how he’d always approached his work, arguably for thousands of years.

There was no use getting anxious just because the Clarks’ had watched one too many anti-drug PSAs and didn’t have any outlet for what they’d learned. After all, Aziraphale had enough on his plate at present. _The Importance of Being Earnest_ went up Friday and there was plenty of work to do. At least everyone would understand the cause if _he_ started to doze off in class.

On Wednesday, rehearsal ran until 11:00 PM and, since Aziraphale insisted on staying until everything was in order, he did not leave until 11:30. Rachel, bless her, was patient and was still somehow bubbly as she drove him home.

“You know I was kind of worried, when I tried out for the play this year, that it wouldn’t be half as fun the musical was in the spring, but I am having such a great time. It’s kind of nice being in the little cast, even if I have a smaller role.” Rachel was playing one of the butlers whom Mr. Velasquez had transformed into maids. It didn’t quite make sense given the strict gender roles of the time period they were portraying, but nearly three times as many girls had auditioned. This wasn’t Broadway or the West End; they could be flexible.

“I am so glad you wound up joining the theater department, even if it took three semesters to persuade you. I rather wish we could have gotten Keisha to sign up too, but I suppose she’s busy.” Aziraphale had met both Rachel and Keisha in the tap dancing class he’d taken back in middle school. It had been a great deal of fun, but Keisha was the only one talented enough to continue on with it as the years passed.

“Yeah, her dance schedule is crazy. I thought she’d eventually drop tap and jazz and just keep up with ballet, you know? But then she quit cheerleading instead. I guess she couldn’t do that and travel for competitions and performances, but that still seemed nuts to me.”

This sent Rachel off onto a new topic, and Aziraphale only half listened as they drove through empty late night streets. The rest of Westwich was in bed already, or else merely awake on the couch watching late night comedians make light of the day’s news. You could see where they were; the occasional light glowing through white window shades. It was pleasant and homey. The sight, rolling by outside the car window, mixed together with Rachel’s stream of one sided conversation, made Aziraphale comfortably sleepy. He’d nearly nodded off when Rachel’s tone suddenly changed.

“Is that a kid?”

Aziraphale sat up and squinted toward the shadowed figure at the end of Rachel’s headlights. It certainly wasn’t an adult. He stared as they got closer, horror creeping in as features grew more familiar. He’d known that shade of red nearly as long as the earth had been spinning.

“Rachel, stop the car.”

“Is that your neighbor kid?”

“Yes. Please, stop.”

As soon as they’d pulled up beside him, she did. Aziraphale threw himself out of the car so quickly that Anthony had no time to react.

“What are you doing outside by yourself at this time of night? Is everything alright?” Aziraphale’s panic and fury waited on the answer to decide which emotion would win out.

“Uh,” said Anthony. “Um, going home.”

“From where?” Fury was starting to take the edge.

“The train station?” Aziraphale was uncertain what his face was doing, but whatever expression it had chosen prompted Anthony to add, “I’m fine, angel. Honest. It’s no big deal.”

Panic and fury, it turned out, did not need to be mutually exclusive. His mind was suddenly flooded with the Clarks’ worried warnings, his own memories of nearly losing Anthony just last year, and utter frustration at the boy’s lack of concern. He should have taken Edith and Elijah seriously. Of course he should expect Anthony to fall in with the wrong peer group and make poor choices. That’s exactly what he’d done in heaven.

“No big deal? No big deal!?” Aziraphale’s train of thought found its way onto the rails again. “You could have been hurt. You _know_ you could have been hurt. Tell me where you were.”

“I did! I was at the train station.”

“Doing what?”

Anthony did not answer.

Aziraphale had not become human, had not gone through middle school, so that Anthony could act like a fool and get himself killed. “In the car. Now. We’re going home.”

“I mean, were basically there already. I’ll just walk.”

“Now!” Aziraphale pointed with such ferocity that Anthony obeyed, although not without rolling his eyes. Trying desperately to get a hold of himself, Aziraphale followed, returning to the passenger seat and doing his best to remain polite. “Rachel, I’m sorry to involve you in this, but might it be possible for me to borrow your cellular phone?”

She nodded, all desire to talk gone, and handed him the device before starting to drive again.

“Angel? Ezra, what are you doing?” Tony asked, voice finally nervous.

Aziraphale pointedly did not answer him. He fiddled with the numbers on the phone before finally getting it to dial properly. Elijah picked up.

“Hello?’

“It’s me.”

“Is everything alright, buddy? It’s later than usual. We were starting to get worried.”

“I’m perfectly fine. We just ran a little late. I’m nearly home. However, Rachel and I passed Anthony on the road. I thought I ought to give you warning before we arrive.”

Elijah’s voice became very low. “We’ll get Maddy. See you soon.”

Aziraphale shut the phone with a satisfying click.

“What did you do that for?! The hell kind of friend are you?” Anthony shouted from the back seat.

“The kind who is not going to let you get yourself into harm, despite your best efforts. I don’t know _what_ is going on with you but we’re all going to figure that out before long, I’m sure.”

Anthony let out something that was not quite a growl and not quite a shout, but was certainly filled with aggravation however else it ought to be categorized. Aziraphale did not care.

When Rachel pulled into the parking lot of Westwich Ministry, Maddy and both Clarks were waiting outside, all three of them in pajamas and bathrobes. This somehow made them more intimidating. Aziraphale apologized once more to Rachel for putting her in the middle of things and then quickly exited the vehicle.

Anthony did not follow immediately, as though he were considering remaining in the car forever. Perhaps he would have tried it if Rachel had not been in the driver seat. When he did, at last, follow Aziraphale out, he refused to make eye contact. He stared instead at the pavement and looked as though he were trying not to cry.

Aziraphale only felt a little bad about it.

As Rachel pulled carefully away, he got a better view of the three waiting adults. Maddy’s face was blotchy and wet with recent tears, but her voice was nearly steady. “In the house. Now.”

Anthony complied but still with his eyes on the ground. The adults followed, with Aziraphale bringing up the rear. He paused in the foyer, just long enough to hang up his coat. It occurred to him, for the first time, that Anthony had been out in nothing more than a zippered sweatshirt. He was risking his health on top of everything else.

When he entered the living room, Anthony was already sitting on the couch, all three adults looming over him. He looked very small by comparison.

“Tony, where were you?” Maddy asked. When Anthony’s only response was to shrug, her voice grew ragged, “No. We are not playing that game today. Tell me where you were?”

“I wasn’t doing anything bad!”

“You snuck out in the middle of the night. That’s already something bad!”

Elijah turned to Aziraphale. “Did he tell you?”

“All I got was that he’d been to the train station. He wouldn’t tell me for what purpose.”

The stubborn glare on Anthony’s face slipped, briefly, as his lip trembled. Aziraphale had not taken his side.

“You want to tell us why you were at the _train station_?” Maddy asked. This time she didn’t even get the shrug. Anthony had gone utterly silent. “Fine then. Stand up. Give me your hoodie.”

Perhaps because the directive caught him off guard, Anthony did as he was bid. Aziraphale watched, uncertain where this was going, as Maddy reached into the pockets. Finding nothing, she turned back to her son. “Turn out your pockets.”

“What? How come you don’t trust me?”

“You snuck out, kiddo, and you won’t say anything. Now turn out your pockets.”

He hesitated, casting a desperate look in Aziraphale’s direction. But whatever help he thought he’d get from that corner would not be coming. Aziraphale was not going to help him hurt himself.

Wincing, he turned the pockets out on his baggy jeans. They had not been empty. In one hand was a small wad of cash- in the other, a covered knife.

“What the hell, Tony!?” Maddy shouted before bursting into tears and sinking down to sit on the coffee table. Anthony’s eyes were still closed as the Clarks moved to take over his interrogation.

Aziraphale felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him. He too wished he could sink down and weep, but there was nothing nearby to support his weight. He squeezed the fingers of one hand tightly as he could with the other and tried to focus on not panicking.

“Give me the knife,” Elijah ordered, hand outstretched. Anthony did as he was told. “Now, where did you get this? Was it from a friend at school? Did someone tell you this was a good idea?”

“I got it from the kitchen…” Anthony said miserably. “Mom uses it to cut apples and stuff. I figured it’d be safe to carry ‘cause it has that little cover on it.”

“Why would you need to carry a knife at all?” Edith’s tone was softer than Elijah’s. She was clearly the ‘good cop’.

“I just… I’m not stupid. I know going out alone coan be dangerous. I had the knife to protect myself.”

“Why would you go somewhere dangerous on purpose?” Elijah demanded.

“I got taken out of the front yard of the church last year! Anywhere could be dangerous!” Anthony shouted back.

“Alright fine. We’ll take the explanation for the knife. Where did you get this much money and why were you carrying it around with you?” Elijah asked.

“I’m not allowed to have money?”

Maddy found her voice again, although she strained to speak. “Tony, please. Do you know what we’re all thinking right now?”

He shook his head.

“You’re sneaking out in the middle of night, you have mysterious money, you’re carrying a weapon. It looks like you’re… like you’re selling drugs or something!”

“You all think that?” Tony asked. He seemed legitimately surprised as he looked around at the worried faces in the room. He stared at Aziraphale last and longest. “How could any of you think I’d do something like that after everything I saw Mom go through? I’m not an idiot!”

“Then where the hell were you?” Maddy demanded again.

Anthony did not respond immediately, but he looked like he was wavering. Aziraphale decided to join in. “Please, all you’re doing is dragging things out and making things worse. You’ve frightened us. We just want to know you’re alright.”

Very quietly Anthony mumbled. “I was at a bar…”

Four voices shouted in unison, “WHAT?”

“But I wasn’t doing anything bad, I promise! I was just… I was just… Every Wednesday they’ve got this karaoke contest and the winner gets an even hundred bucks. And Mom has group every Wednesday and I was usually asleep by the time she got back and she doesn’t check in on me anymore like she did last year, because she said now that I’m in middle school I should have my privacy. So I just had to leave before she got home and get back after she was asleep. And train tickets just to Norford don’t cost that much this time of day and I almost always win so it pays for its self and then some. It’s actually really smart if you think about it like that.”

“How many times have you done this?” Maddy asked.

“I dunno, like ten?” Tony said. He tried to grin but gave it up immediately when he saw the looks he was getting.

It was all so absurd and overly complicated that Aziraphale believed it immediately.

Elijah, apparently, did not. “What’s the name of this bar?”

“ _Inferno Bar and Grille_?”

Of course it was.

“I’ll go look it up on the computer and call to double check his story,” Elijah said with a sigh. “I’ll also give them a piece of my mind about letting an unaccompanied child in. See if you can figure out why he needs all this money in the first place, because right now I’m still not convinced drugs or alcohol aren’t involved.”

As he stormed up the stairs, Anthony turned back to his mother. “I saw what you went through. I wouldn’t do that!”

Maddy took his little hand in hers. “Tony. I don’t know what else you expect us to think. Addiction can run in families. I worry all the time that I’ve set you up for failure. You lying and sneaking around isn’t making that any better. Look, if this secret of yours isn’t that big of a deal, can you at least tell Ezra? If he tells me it’s fine, I won’t worry about what the money is for. Can you at least do that?”

Aziraphale drew closer, assuming Anthony would take the offer.

He didn’t. “I can’t tell, Ezra! He’s the last person who can know.”

The boy was only eleven. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Aziraphale tried to act as though he’d been getting nearer just to sit in the armchair.

“Then you need to tell me. It’s not a choice.”

“Ugh, fine! But no one else gets to know.” He pulled her by the hand into the nearby bathroom and shut the door behind him. Aziraphale was ready to eaves drop but then Anthony turned on the fan.

Alone, Edith sunk down onto the edge of couch nearest Aziraphale. “I’ve been praying so much for that boy. I hope he isn’t lying about that karaoke stuff.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Aziraphale said. “He never seems to get into normal trouble. It’s always got to be a little outside the box with him.”

“That’s true. I suppose we can take some solace in that.” She laughed with relief, before sighing and glancing at the clock. “My Lord, it’s almost midnight. Tomorrow is going to be difficult. If you want to skip the first few periods I’d be alright with that.”

“No. I’ll be fine. If this all ends well, I’ll be fine. Will you? I know you’re first year teaching is exhausting enough when things are going well.”

“I’ll muddle through.”

Beyond the bathroom door, Maddy’s voice grew loud enough to be heard over the fan. “YOU’VE SAVED UP THAT MUCH?!”

Aziraphale supposed there were worse things they could have overheard. He and Edith sat in silence. He was feeling less stressed than before, but he couldn’t help wondering why he was the _last_ one Anthony could trust.

Elijah came back down the stairs and joined his wife in relieved slumping on the couch. “His story holds up. Frank at Inferno Bar and Grill said this boy showed up in September and asked to sign up for Karaoke. They almost turned him away but he did a little singing at the door and they figured a kid would make a nice change of pace. Because of the grill part of the establishment, minors are allowed in. They wanted him to participate so they didn’t ask a lot of questions. He shows up at nine like clockwork, sings, they occasionally give him free Shirley Temples and he leaves at eleven, usually with a hundred bucks. Apparently the crowd loves him. Their Wednesday night numbers have increased since he started participating.”

That made more sense to Aziraphale than Anthony selling drugs. If he were going to get himself in trouble, he was going to do it with style.

“Did he and Maddy already leave?” Elijah asked.

“They’re in the toilet,” Aziraphale explained. “He’s confessing the money bit. I’m sure it’s just as ridiculous.”

On cue, the bathroom door opened and Anthony stepped out. Maddy was close behind him, hands on his shoulders. Anthony bowed his head. “I’m sorry for causing everyone to worry. I shouldn’t have snuck out and I shouldn’t have refused to say anything when I got caught. Mom, do I have to say the next part?”

Maddy nodded.

“I hope it’s not too much of a burden to have me come stay here again when my mom’s not around, until I’ve earned back the trust to stay home alone.”

“That would be fine. We never minded having you,” Edith assured him. Then she looked to Maddy, “Everything else okay?”

To Aziraphale’s surprise and relief, she laughed. “Yup, the means were a problem, but the end he’s working for isn’t. It’s actually kind of sweet.”

Anthony glared at her.

“Sorry, I’m not supposed to give hints. Just, please trust that there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about on that front. You’ll all find out eventually anyway. Again, I’m sorry for putting you all through this and sorry for depending on you all to take care of him when I’m at work. I honestly thought he was old enough now… We’re gonna head back to the apartment. I’ve got some more punishing to think of. Oh and that reminds me. Ezra?”

“Yes?” Perhaps this was it, the answer to why Anthony hadn’t wanted to speak with him.

“Is it important to you that Tony see your show?”

Aziraphale was confused, but he nodded.

“Alright, then that’s off the grounded from list. Still taking all your records and CDs though. Now come on, Tony. March.”

It would all be alright then. Anthony wasn’t in any danger at all. Still, Aziraphale couldn’t relax completely. There was still too much he did not know.

* * *

December 2002

Aziraphale was still in the dark- figuratively speaking, of course- there was hardly any actual darkness to be found in the Clark household during December. Edith and Elijah were both far too keen on decorating for the season to allow it.

There were candles in every odd nook and colored lights on every wall. Even within the sanctity of his bedroom, the soft glow from the fleet of lightbulb reindeer on the lawn below leaked in at the edges of his window shades. This made it rather difficult to sulk, but Aziraphale did his level best just the same.

It wasn’t that Anthony wasn’t allowed to have secrets; if he and his mother wanted to have private conversations that was fine. Aziraphale had learned to accept that. It was only that he’d said Aziraphale was the _last_ person he’d want to tell and that was beginning to seem quite true.

Aziraphale had reason to suspect that the Clarks were now in on it.

They hadn’t been at Thanksgiving. He was sure of that. He’d heard Edith asking after Anthony in worried tones when he’d walked into the kitchen to check on the cornbread he’d been attempting for the occasion. Maddy had whispered, “I actually need to talk to you about that. Are you free tomorrow?”

Aziraphale had worried about that all through dinner even as Anthony sat by his side yammering on about his orchestra class and seeming perfectly well adjusted. 

When Edith had returned from shopping with Maddy the next day she’d given Aziraphale a knowing smile and refused to say anything. By the following afternoon it appeared Elijah was part of the conspiracy. Aziraphale had been left alone in the house while both Clarks went over to the Jay’s apartment. The most explanation he’d gotten was, “Nothing to worry about, bud.”

It was at that point where he’d stopped worrying and started sulking. Now they were just a week out from Christmas and still everyone was playing coy with him. Consequently, Aziraphale had shut himself away in his room after school with a glass of milk and a plate of yuletide biscuits for a few good hours of reading. All he wanted to do was speak to no one and bite the heads off smiling elves.

He’d nearly mellowed after three hours when an insistent knocking on his door brought Aziraphale back to earth and tension back into his shoulders. “Who is it?”

“ S’me. Can I come in?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes. I suppose. Did you just get back from work?”

He needn’t have asked. Anthony pushed his way in, his little face still red from the cold. He grinned. “Yup! Mr. Rossini had us working right to closing time and everything. I’m exhausted.”

The way he scurried in and bounced onto Aziraphale’s bed made this hard to believe. Still, he looked so cheerful that Aziraphale couldn’t keep up a proper annoyance.

“I’m glad you’ve found more honest ways to make your fortune. After the stunt you pulled I thought your mother might lock you up. I didn’t expect her to get you employment, and even then I’d expect her to garnish your wages.”

“Well, she has made me volunteer at the church an awful lot. I gotta help your mom wrangle all the little kids during the Christmas Eve Pageant. For free.” Anthony collapsed dramatically back onto the mattress. Without getting up he continued, “Guess it coulda been way worse though. And I like working with Mom after school.”

Maddy worked year round at _Rossini’s Garden Center._ Though there wasn’t much gardening to be done in the winter months, they did a bustling sale on Christmas Trees in December. It wasn’t an official job, Anthony was too young to go on payroll, but he was being paid to help out. Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly what the job encompassed, as the Clark family had gotten their own tree by chopping it down at a family owned farm. From what he’d gathered, however, Anthony’s main role was to sit by the entrance to the Christmas Tree lot and serenade the customers with a variety of carols. His mother had gotten him a pair of fingerless gloves so that he could play the guitar while he was out there.

Anthony was very proud of them and had taken to wearing them at every possible opportunity.

“So, whatever it is that you’re saving up for, it seems that’s still going on?” Aziraphale tried not to sound particularly interested. He failed.

“Angel, I _told_ you. It’s a secret.”

“What? I was just reasoning aloud. I didn’t say I wanted to know. I don’t care.”

Anthony raised one eyebrow and smirked at him. It was one of those expressions that always made Aziraphale feel a bit unmoored from time. Despite his rounded, childish features, that smirk was Crowley, through and through.

“Nice try, angel. No one’s buying it.”

Aziraphale became huffy. “Well, I suppose I’ll know soon enough. It’s a bit obvious really. Considering the timing of it all, it must be some sort of Christmas gift.”

“You think?” Anthony stood up, dug his hands deep into his pockets, and approached Aziraphale where he sat at his little writing desk. “You think you’re worth that much?”

“Well, I-” This was ridiculous. He was being teased by a child. “I have my guesses if you must know. There’s only one thing I can think of that costs a lot of money that you might want me to have.”

“Oh?” The little bastard looked utterly confident.

“Yes. You’re not old enough to have one yourself, but judging by how keen you seem to be about me actually making use of that infernal driver’s permit, you’re trying to buy me a car. You’ve always loved them. it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He raised his chin, smug in his own victory for just a moment before the guilt came in. Anthony had been working so hard to surprise him and now he’d gone and ruined it. He could be so petty sometimes.

Then he realized that Anthony was still smirking at him. “Ezra, if I’m gonna save up for a car, I’m waiting until I’m sixteen and getting one for myself. I’m not spending that kind of cash on someone who’s scared to try driving in an empty parking lot. That’d be mean.”

“But… I was so sure…”

“Sorry, Sherlock, you’re out of luck this time.” He grinned as he made his way out the door. “I was just popping into say ‘hi’, but you keep working on it. I can’t wait for the next guess.”

“Your incorrigible,” Aziraphale huffed.

Anthony giggled to himself all the way down the stairs.

* * *

“Angel. Angel. Ezra, come on wake up! Angel, it’s Christmas.” Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, bleary for a moment and then fully awake. Anthony was standing by his bedside, practically vibrating with excitement. It was traditional that the Jays sleep over on Christmas Eve; Maddy on the couch and Anthony in his sleeping bag on Aziraphale’s carpet. This was the fifth year, sixth if you included the year the Clarks had fostered Anthony, and Aziraphale still wasn’t used to the excited wake up call.

He slapped his hand on to the night stand, fumbling for his glasses, but he needn’t have bothered. Anthony had already taken them and tried to shove them onto Aziraphale’s face. “Careful, you’re going to take my eye out.”

“Angel, come on.” Anthony seized him by the wrist and pulled Aziraphale from bed. He was then yanked out the door and down the stairs. The whole way Anthony’s feet made far too much noise for such a slim thing. This was not an accident. The louder he was, the sooner the adults would wake. This was particularly true of poor Maddy, who had not yet sat up when they went tumbling into the living room.

“Look at all the presents!” Anthony demanded.

They were not allowed to open anything until everyone was assembled but he hovered about the tree, still buzzing with excitement nonetheless.

Maddy mumbled, “Gonna go put some water on.” and left the room.

Aziraphale was convinced that Anthony might simply explode if everyone did not hurry up, but he managed to wait. It was another twenty minutes or so, after everyone had a chance to go to the bathroom and the adults had their coffee and Aziraphale had his tea, before the gift opening could finally begin.

In other years, this was the time when Anthony finally calmed, but with each passing present his nerves only seemed to multiply. Even after the room had been turned into a nest of red and green wrapping paper and the boy had gotten everything he’d asked for, he could not sit still. And he kept glancing at Aziraphale.

“Alright, I think that’s just about everything for everyone!” Elijah announced happily. Then he gave a fake gasp, “Wait, Tony I don’t think you’ve given Ezra his gift yet!”

“It’s upstairs! I’mgonnagogetit.” Anthony bounded out of the room, going so quickly that he took the stairs on all fours. The adults all looked at one another with conspiratorial grins. Aziraphale tried to sit primly on the floor by his pile of new books and look only mildly curious, but inside his bewilderment raged.

Anthony reentered the room with the same force with which he’d left it, nearly knocking into every piece of furniture as he made his way to Aziraphale. Then he stopped and thrust out a small box, poorly wrapped, with an envelope taped to the top.

“Open the box first.”

“The _box_ first? Doesn’t one normally-”

“Box first, angel.”

Aziraphale did as ordered. He peeled back the paper, trying to ignore the intensity of the eyes fixed on him, and pulled out a Christmas ornament. It was a glass airplane, delicate and semitransparent. He raised a questioning brow in Anthony’s direction.

“Now open the envelope.”

Aziraphale’s hands were shaking as he opened it, although he knew that was ridiculous. The card was unusually shaped, one of the extra-long sort, usually designed for giving money or checks. Was that all this was? Had Anthony simply given him all that he’d worked for?

But then he opened the card and froze. Inside were two round trip tickets to London.

“Surprise!” said Anthony. When Aziraphale, too stunned to speak, remained silent, the boy began to babble. “I hope you like it. I’ve been saving up forever. Since like two summers ago actually. I never spent that money I won at that Fourth of July thing. It took a while and I didn’t think I’d be able to have enough by Christmas, so I’ve been working double hard. But I already got us the tickets and I paid for a hotel room too. I don’t have enough yet for us to _do_ anything once we’re over there. But I’ll keep working for a while. The trip’s not until this summer, so I’ve got some time. Plus I’ll be twelve in February and think Pastor Harvey might let me babysit by myself then. I was gonna keep it a secret from everybody, but it’s pretty good my mom found out. I don’t think anyone would have sold me the tickets if it was just me. Also, she said we had to ask your mom and dad if it was alright. And they did say it was alright. Only, your mom has to come with us too. She’s paying for herself though, ‘cause I didn’t have enough for her. Plus she’s working now, so there’s a bit more money, I guess. Anyway, I hope you like it. ‘Cause I know how much you miss your home and stuff. And I-”

“Anthony…” Aziraphale’s voice finally returned to him as his shock began to wear off. Only he was silenced once again by a sob.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, angel.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy, you dear, silly thing.” Tickets still clutched in his hand, he threw his arms around Anthony and pulled him close. “You wonderful, sweet child! Thank you. Thank you so much.”

It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him since he’d become human. It was among the kindest things that had been done for him in six millennia. He’d been ridiculous to even think Anthony might be involved in something horrid. Crowley had only fallen once, he’d been kind to Aziraphale always. That was what he ought to have expected from Anthony from the beginning.

The boy pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eye and gave him a lop sided smile. “I told you I’d take you home, angel.”

Aziraphale melted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who are celebrating. I hope you enjoyed this little bit of early holiday cheer (after the emotional roller coaster at the start).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather soft chapter for a rather difficult year.

February 2003

The snow had started last night after Tony had been sent to bed. He shouldn’t have known that- his room didn’t have any windows- but he’d gotten up 2 A.M and decided to check. At some other time he might have gone all the way outside to look, but it was only four months since he’d been caught on his way home from the train station. It was best not to push things now and it wasn’t as though the view from the kitchenette wasn’t any good.

He’d seen the flakes coming down, white and soft and dangerous, by the light of the moon. Tony hadn’t prayed, because he didn’t believe in that sort of thing, but he’d hoped really hard. It wasn’t every kid who was lucky enough to get a snow day on their birthday.

The first thing he did upon waking was turn to the glowing, green numbers on his radio clock. 8:08. Past the time that school should have started, an excellent sign. Too excited to find where he’d last tossed his slippers, Tony ignored the chill on his feet and stumbled toward the door. He found his mother on the couch, lounging back with a mug of something warm, as she watched the local weatherman point excitedly at a car stuck in a ditch.

“Snow day or delay?” Tony demanded. She jumped. After she caught her breath and made sure her drink hadn’t spilled, Maddy smiled at him.

“Happy Birthday. You got the whole day off and so do I.” She opened her arms for a hug and he complied for only a second, before running to one of the windows to look out. The snow was whirling wildly by, more sideways now than downward.

“How many feet is it?”

“Half of one.” His mother laughed. “It’s wind more than anything right now. The visibility’s bad, but the clean-up shouldn’t be awful.”

“Aw. I was going to see if any of the neighbors would pay me to shovel.”

“Kiddo, it’s your birthday. Take a break. And besides, if it’s easy to plow it won’t get in the way of your party on Saturday.”

“I guess that’s good,” Tony agreed. He _was_ looking forward to taking a few of his classmates out for fast food and laser tag that weekend. Still, that wasn’t the part of his birthday that mattered most. Tonight was when he’d get a homemade cake and most of his presents. And he’d have traded in laser tag for a day off school anyway. He frowned as something new occurred to him, “We’ll still be able to have a special dinner tonight, right?”

“Of course, Tony. The snow isn’t so bad that we can’t walk next door. And if we can’t find a place that’s delivering pizza in this weather, we can probably guilt Ezra and Edith into making something fresh. I bet it’d be better, anyway.”

Buoyed by the thought, Tony tore himself from the window. This was going to be his best birthday and he really ought to get it started.

Within the hour he was all brushed and clean, sated by an entire stack of Eggos, and was bundled up and ready for the short chilly trek over to the manse. He stood by the apartment door, starting to overheat, and tapped his foot. “Come on, Mom.”

“Give me a second. Geeze, kid. I want to make sure I don’t forget anything,” Maddy finally came out of her room. She had a very large paper bag with her.

Tony lit up at the sight of it. “Are my presents in there?”

“I’m not telling,” she teased. As she pulled on her coat, he peeked inside. Before she noticed and pulled the top closed, he caught sight of guitar printed wrapping paper. He grinned to himself all the way through the snow.

The Clarks had been having their own leisurely morning and, with no where they needed to walk, not a one of them had bothered changing out of their pajamas before the Jays arrived. They were all curled up on the living room furniture with warm drinks and heavy blankets. When Tony entered the room, the mugs were raised aloft and he was greeted by a round of ‘Happy Birthday’s.

The rest of the day passed in a cozy haze. They played every board game in the house by the warmth of the manse fireplace. The adults rotated out for those games that could not support five players, leaving to tackle miserable grown up responsibilities like scraping ice from car windows and checking on neighbors.

Ezra always got to stay though, which was wonderful even when he was trouncing everyone at _Clue_. That was alright, since Tony knocked him down a peg at _Monopoly_. No one from the Clark family was any good at cutting deals, but Ezra was especially bad. Better even than winning alone, however, was beating the adults at the team games. Even given that Ezra wasn’t much of an artist, Tony always knew what he was drawing in _Pictionary_. In _Password_ they went undefeated until Edith and Elijah simply gave up.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think the two of you were cheating- or psychic,” Elijah said as he set up the _Scrabble_ board.

“I just suppose we know one another rather well.”

“Your father and I have known each other longer!” Edith laughed.

Ezra’s lips pursed, as though there were something he wanted to say, but he stayed quiet. Eventually he answered, “If we go by percentage of life lived, we still have the advantage.”

Then he proceeded to destroy them all at _Scrabble_.

At 5:00 Edith shooed the boys up to Ezra’s room so that they could set up properly for Tony’s birthday dinner. From the upstairs window, he could see the church parking lot, cleared by a hired snow plow that had visited mid-day. The snow had long since stopped falling and he would have to go back to school tomorrow. He supposed it’d be alright. Tomorrow was Friday anyway.

“Have you had a Happy Birthday so far?” Ezra asked him as he sat on the end of his mattress.

“It woulda been happier if you’d let me win a little more,” Tony teased.

“Well, we wouldn’t want you getting a swelled head, now would we?” Ezra smiled at him mischievously, before the expression faltered. “I do hope you like what I’ve gotten you. I can’t… I can’t help but feel it’s not enough.”

Tony frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be enough?”

“You’ve worked so hard to give me so much. Nothing I do can compare.”

Tony didn’t like how downcast Ezra looked or the nervous way he twisted his fingers together, but he would have been lying if he’d said a part of him wasn’t proud. He hated being the little kid, hated being someone Ezra and everyone else had to take care of all the time. It was nice to have the shoe on the other foot.

It was even better to act like it was no big deal. “That’s ridiculous, angel. Presents aren’t about trying to one up each other. It’s just trying to give someone else something nice because you like them, is all. ‘Snot a competition.”

“I know that. But still…”

Tony sat next to him and offered up a grin. “Well, tell me what you got me and we’ll see how it compares!”

Putting it that way made Ezra flush slightly, as he realized how absurd he actually sounded. “If you must know, I made you a new hat and scarf set, like the one you had when you were little. I know you’ve outgrown them and I thought something hand made might be a nice gesture. It’s not exactly an international trip though, is it?”

He was waiting for an answer and Tony wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d loved that hat and scarf. He still had them, had refused to let his mother give them away when they didn’t fit him anymore. They were the first thing Ezra had ever given him, his first glimpse of a warmth that could not exist in a home with Tony’s father. They were precious to him.

They were also really babyish.

If he showed up at school tomorrow in a hat with eyes on it and a scarf shaped like a snake, Mikey C. would laugh in his face. Tony knew he’d wear them anyway. It was a good thing there had been a storm today because he was going to have to shove Mikey face first into a snowbank.

“I’ll love them, angel. Thanks.”

“Is there anything else I can do, to repay you even a little bit?”

It was clearly bothering Ezra, so Tony tried to think of something. It would have to be cool though, something that could get some of his cred back after its inevitable downfall. Tony’s eyes lit up.

“You could drive me around when you get your license!” Until the day Tony could drive himself, there wouldn’t be anything cooler than being in a car without an adult.

Ezra paled. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“Yeah! It’ll be so awesome. If we want to go to the mall or the movies or something, we’ll just be able to go. Total freedom! And I can just imagine the look on Mikey’s face if you drop me off at his house. He brags about his big brother all the time but _he’s_ just a freshman. And anyway, you got your permit back near your birthday, right? You’ll be able to take the test in a couple months.”

Ezra squirmed. “Well, I did get the permit, but I haven’t, well I haven’t actually gotten behind a wheel yet. My father wanted me to in November, but I kept putting him off.”

He stood up suddenly and strode toward the window. “I mean, look at that parking lot! The snow is gone but it’s practically ice. And, I’ve never complained about it before, but all of the roads are backwards.”

Tony blinked at him. He’d known Ezra wasn’t very excited about driving, but he hadn’t realized he was so nervous. “Angel, are you scared?”

“I- Er, no! Of course- That’s absolutely- I can’t believe…” He stopped huffing and stared at Tony. In a higher voice he finally said. “Human bodies are very breakable!”

“You know what you’d tell me?”

Ezra deflated slightly. “What?”

“You’d say: ‘Anthony, you don’t actually know if it will be very difficult until you at least make an attempt.’ ‘sides if you’re just worried about the danger than you _definitely_ should learn to drive. You never know when I’ll sneak off to a train station full of strangers in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t have to do that if I had a chauffeur.” He raised his brows and awaited the response.

Ezra folded his arms and sat heavily in his desk chair. “You’re being ridiculous and you’re taking advantage, but fine. I’ll give it a go. In the spring. But this more than pays you back for the Christmas present.”

Tony grinned.

* * *

March 2003

March was easily Connecticut’s worst month. The snow was gone, the spring flowers not yet arrived, and everywhere Aziraphale looked was mud and pale grass. Perhaps it was fitting. It was all as dreary as the very depths of his soul.

“Alright, bud, the ladies have moved their cars to the street so we’ve got the whole parking lot to practice in,” Elijah said brightly. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. We won’t go out onto any of the streets today. You’ll just get a feel for being behind the wheel. There’s nothing around for you to hit.”

“Except the house, the church, and Anthony!”

“We’ll send Tony back inside before we get started,” Elijah assured him. “But I think you might be overestimating how easy it is to make a car go fast enough to damage a building.”

Aziraphale glanced downward at the excited boy beside him. He could think of someone who could make a car go that fast. Anthony frowned, “Why can’t I stay and watch?”

“Because you’re making Ezra nervous. You can go into our house and watch from his room, okay? You’ll be able to see the whole parking lot from up above and he won’t have to worry about you getting hit. So, once we get in the car, you skedaddle.”

“ _Fine._ ”

Aziraphale had only half been paying attention to this conversation; he’d been too busy changing his visualization of the car slamming into the house. Before he’d imagined the car going straight through the wall, now he imagined it crumpling, his own blood oozing out of the sides.

“Perhaps we ought to practice in mother’s car instead of yours.”

“The minivan is a lot bigger and the sightlines aren’t as good.” Elijah shook his head. “Everything you’re nervous about would be worse.”

“Well, except I imagine the minivan is safer in an accident. It can take more damage. Saloons are so small.”

Elijah and Anthony both looked at him as though he’d grown an extra appendage. Aziraphale surreptitiously touched one of his shoulder blades to see if his wings had manifested. Otherwise he couldn’t figure out what was so bizarre.

Then Anthony’s eyes went round. “Is a saloon a car?”

“Wha- Yes, of course. The kind of car that Father has. The four door regular kind. What would you call it?”

Elijah smiled, relieved his son was not insane. “We’d call it a sedan. Although, I guess I’m not much of car guy because I always just call it a car.”

Anthony’s eyes were still huge. “That makes so much more sense! I always wondered how Freddy Mercury was driving around in an old timey cowboy bar.”

It was his turn to be stared at as though he were mad. Anthony rolled his eyes. “In _Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy_ he says ‘Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely’. I only ever heard of a saloon as one of those bars from cowboy movies. You know, with the swinging doors and the dancing ladies and the ‘this town ain’t big enough for the two of us’. I couldn’t figure out how you drove in one of those.”

Aziraphale laughed, his nerves alleviating slightly. “You should have asked me, you silly boy. Are there any other British lyrics that have thrown you for a loop?”

Anthony took a moment to think it over. “In the same song he says something about dining at the Ritz. At first I figured it had to do with the crackers and then I thought maybe it was that rock club from New York in the eighties. But I’m not real confident about either of those. Do you know what that’s about?”

“Do I? Of course!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “The Ritz is one of London’s finest hotels and restaurants. The very height of elegance with simply the most wonderful food. It didn’t matter the meal: tea, dinner, a spot of brunch. It was all divine.”

“Alright, why don’t we get in the car while you’re still coasting on those good memories there?” Elijah suggested.

Aziraphale felt himself crashing back down to earth. He hoped it was the only crashing he’d be doing.

Leaving Anthony to scurry back into the house, Aziraphale followed Elijah to his car, approaching the driver side door as though it might bite him. It wasn’t as though he’d never gotten into a car from this side. He could just pretend he were back home in London and he were getting in like always. Swallowing heavily, he opened the door and sat down. The steering wheel that met him killed his imagination rather quickly.

“Okay, bud. Don’t be so nervous. I still have the keys. It’s not going to start moving.” Elijah was doing a splendid job of keeping any amusement out of his voice. “Now. You aced your permit test, so I know you know what to do on paper. What’s the first thing you do when you get in a car?”

He did know this. He had studied it. But that had been months ago and Aziraphale was currently having trouble remembering either of his own names.

“Deep breaths, buddy. What’s the first thing you do?”

“Adjust my seat?”

“Great! Make sure you’re a good distance back so that you can comfortably hold the steering wheel.” He watched approvingly as Aziraphale moved his seat. “Good, now what next?”

“Mirrors?”

Another enthusiastic nod. This wasn’t so bad, really. Aziraphale was starting to feel that he had this whole thing under control by the time he’d moved everything into place and buckled himself in.

Then Elijah gave him the keys and he started to panic all over again. “I can’t do this!”

“Yes, you can. Remember, we’re not going out on the road today. You’re just going to move the car around a little and get a feel for it. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He was using the same voice he used when calming parishioners in times of crisis. “So, put your foot on the break there. Just the one foot on the one pedal. You move it back and forth. You don’t use your left foot at all. There you go.”

Aziraphale had always sat in the back in America and always been too busy clinging on for dear life in England. He’d never paid much attention to what anybody’s feet were doing.

“Okay, now that you’ve got the break down, you can turn the key. If you turn just a little bit all the electronics will go on. Just like that. And if you turn a little farther you’ll feel the engine start.”

Aziraphale jumped in fright at the sensation and his foot slipped from the break. He was ready to scream but the car barely moved.

“And that’s one reason to have an emergency break. So, get your foot back on the break and then you can put down the emergency break here.” Aziraphale breathed deeply and did as he was told. “Alright, so now we’re going to move out of ‘park’ and into ‘drive’. You use this stick here. That’s it. Okay, now take your foot just lightly off the break and we’ll roll forward.”

It really wasn’t so terribly bad once it started. The vehicle didn’t zoom forward straight across the parking lot and into their house. It simply rolled, very nicely and stopped when he put his foot down. He smiled broadly and turned to Elijah for approval.

“You’re doing great. Now, we’re going to try the gas petal. The harder you push it, the faster the car goes.”

“Like mother’s sewing machine!”

“If that helps you, then yes.” Elijah’s hand went to the handle above the door in a gesture Aziraphale recognized well from experience. “So now, just press down lightly.”

He did, and the car jumped forward. He’d done that. He’d made it happen all by himself. Aziraphale tried it again, smiling until he realized the end of the parking lot and the broadside of his house were getting closer.

“Oh dear, there’s nowhere left to go!”

This time Elijah did laugh. “Keep at this very slow speed and try turning the steering wheel to the right. NOT THAT HARD. There. There. See that’s better.”

The lesson went on. Aziraphale drove in circles. He drove in squares. He drove backwards. He drove backwards in circles. He parked. He backed up out of a parking space. He backed into a parking space. Elijah had promised they didn’t need to drive for more than fifteen minutes if Aziraphale didn’t want to. They were at it for more than an hour.

When they finally disembarked, they were both uneven on their feet. The state of constant nerves turning them to jelly. Still, Aziraphale did not think he’d ever seen Elijah look prouder and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been prouder of himself either.

Now _this_ was a skill he could carry on when all of this was over. Imagine if Crowley could see him now.

“That was so cool, angel! You were actually driving!”

He looked up and saw a freckled face grinning down at him from his own bedroom window. Perhaps he didn’t need to imagine it much at all.

* * *

May 2003

Mikey C.’s family had what his mother referred to as ‘a finished basement’. Tony supposed that was just a faster way of saying that the walls were painted and there was carpet on the ground. Whenever Tony visited the Cappelletti house, Mikey would immediately head down to the basement. As long as his big brother wasn’t already using the space, they’d set themselves up in front of the flat screen television and play videogames for hours.

It was undeniably cool, all dark woods and black angles. There was a full set of living room furniture and a fully stocked bar from which the children were allowed to take their fill of sodas. Even the bean bag chairs in front of the television, which were never used by adults, were made of real leather. It was swanky and understated and modern, and Tony hated it.

The Cappelletti’s basement was better than his apartment.

Ryan Rockwell, whose house was even larger than Mikey’s, had once asked why Tony never invited them over. He’d told them the church was haunted by Jesus.

“Mikey… can we play something else. My mom really doesn’t want me playing this game,” Ryan said nervously. The three boys had sunk into their leather beanbags an hour or so ago, when they’d first gotten back from school. Mikey, however, had grown bored with the skateboard game they’d been playing and recently switched over to _Grand Theft Auto_.

“Yeah, so? You’re _not_ playing. I am. Watch, I’m gonna take this dude’s car.”

Ryan shrugged, sighed, and curled into his beanbag. He wouldn’t argue with Mikey any further.

Tony would. “You’ve got a billion games. Can’t we play something else? Like something for more than one person, maybe?”

Mikey paused the game, his carjacking successful, turned and frowned at Tony. For friends, they didn’t particularly like one another very much. Tony liked _Ryan_ alright. He sort of reminded him of Ezra, if Ezra weren’t quite as smart or funny, and didn’t have a backbone. But Ryan and Mikey’s families had been friends since they were little, so they came as a package deal. Mikey never complained about having Tony around. He’d pegged him as one of the cooler kids in their class back in first grade, when Tony had routinely gotten into trouble.

Mikey desperately wanted to be cool.

“We’ll take turns, alright? I’ll play for a little while and then you can have a turn. And Ryan doesn’t have to take a turn if his mom doesn’t want him to. Alright?”

Tony rolled his eyes and shrugged with acceptance. Fat chance Mikey actually bothered to share. He’d just keep saying ‘five more minutes’ until it was time for Ryan and Tony to go home. At least the game had a pretty sweet soundtrack.

He sat for a while, enjoying the sounds of Twisted Sister coming from the virtual car’s virtual radio, but eventually Mikey decided to go shoot some people instead and the music ended. “You guys want some more snacks?”

Ryan nodded and Mikey said, “Sure, but you gotta go get them. Mom labeled the drawer we’re allowed to eat out of. Get some chips.”

Tony, having successfully found an excuse to do something else, had no intention of hurrying through this mission. He took his time getting out of the beanbag chair, sauntered toward the staircase, and amused himself by climbing them as slowly as possible. He’d planned to maybe use the bathroom or to look through every drawer in the kitchen, but as he reached the main floor of the house he was gloriously assaulted by the sound of drums and guitars.

Immediately forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, Tony wandered the house, the sound of amateur live music his siren song. There were no rocks to crash on, just a door to the Cappelletti’s garage and the band that played within. 

Tyler Cappelletti was a thousand times cooler than his little brother would ever be- Tyler Cappelletti had his own band.

The Dented Fenderz, taken as a whole, were more loud than competent, but that did not matter to Tony. He’d seen enough episodes of _Behind the Music_ to know that good things started with crappy garage bands. Watching them wail on their instruments, utterly lost in the sound and feel of it, he wanted nothing more than to be one of them.

Tyler leaned into the microphone, the inexplicable chains on his pants swinging as he moved.

_“Do you really want to be like them?_

_Do you really want to be another trend?_

_Do you want to be part of that crowd?_

_Cause I don’t ever wanna_

_I don’t ever want to be you!”_

Not a one of them noticed Tony standing in the door way watching them until the song came to its cacophonous finale. Tony had heard that song on the radio and he was pretty sure Good Charlotte’s version didn’t end with a drum solo. Still, he applauded the Dented Fenderz for looking awesome if nothing else.

They turned to him and he grinned.

The group’s second guitarist wrinkled his nose and turned to Tyler, “I thought you told your brother to keep his little friends from bothering us.”

_Little_ friend seemed a bit rich, considering half the band was still in middle school. They weren’t sixth graders, sure, but they weren’t all ninth graders either. Tyler shrugged. “It’s cool, Aaron. Tony plays music too, right?”

He took this as tacit approval to approach and entered the garage properly. “Yeah. I haven’t got a band though or a sound system like you got.”

Aaron seemed unconvinced. “What do you play?”

“Guitar and piano, mostly. Although, I’m taking violin at school.” Tony privately celebrated not stumbling over his words.

Aaron flipped his hair out of his eyes, held out his guitar and smirked. “You wanna show us what you’ve got?”

Swallowing heavily, Tony nodded. The instrument felt odd in his hands. Cautiously he tested out the sound and found his hold wasn’t quite right. He adjusted, knowing that whatever he played wouldn’t be his best. “I’ve only ever played acoustic.”

“Just give it a try,” the bassist urged.

So Tony did a bit of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , because he always seemed to default there when he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t as smooth as he would have liked and he kept holding the strings down too hard. And yet, hearing that sound, so like the ones from his records, and knowing he was the one making it, gave him a thrill he hadn’t expected.

When he finished, and Aaron held out his hand, Tony didn’t want to get it back.

Maybe, if he kept working after the summer trip was over, he could eventually get one for himself. The idea of putting aside any of Ezra’s vacation money for the purpose never even occurred to him.

“Alright, I admit, you’re not bad for a sixth grader.” Aaron smirked at him “It’s too bad you were still in elementary school last year when Tyler was putting the band together, maybe you’d have gotten in.”

The bassist, and only girl in the group, laughed, “Or Tyler and I should have waited a year so we could have had a whole band of high schoolers.”

“My best friend is in high school!” It wasn’t really relevant to anything that anyone had said, but he felt oddly desperate for the band’s approval.

“Oh, yeah. That nerdy British kid, right? He comes in and talks to my English teacher sometimes. What year is he?” Tyler asked.

Tony bristled. It was true that Ezra was both nerdy and British, but he didn’t like the way Tyler had said it. “He’s a junior and he just got a license and everything.”

A few nods of approval went around the room as Ezra got the respect he deserved. Tony would happily have launched into more stories about his friend, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Mikey.

“Tony, you said you were just getting snacks. Come on, dude, let’s go.”

“Your friend can stay if he wants to Mikey. It’s just you I don’t want hanging around.”

Giving a his brother a glare, but no direct response, Mikey said, “Ryan’s waiting for us. _Come on_ , Tony!”

With an apologetic smile to the Dented Fenderz, Tony shrugged and followed Mikey from the garage. “Sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t think you’d care though. You were mostly just playing on your own anyway.”

“Maybe, but you didn’t need to hang out with my brother and his stupid friends. They’re totally lame, like, they don’t even sound good.” They had reached the kitchen when Mikey paused and turned around. “Why’d you always want to hang out with older kids anyway? Older kids suck.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got an older brother. I know what it’s like. He gets to do shit and I don’t get nothing. Like he starts a band and he won’t even let me join it. The only time he ever hangs out with me is when mom makes him and then it’s no fun because he doesn’t want to be there and he treats me like a baby. I don’t know why you’d want to hang out with your older brother all the time. Doesn’t he treat you like a baby too?”

Tony blinked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. “Do you mean _Ezra_? He’s not my brother.”

“Like not exactly, but kind of, right? Why else would a sixteen year old hang out with a sixth grader.”

“Because he’s my friend, dumb ass.”

Ryan chose this moment to climb the stairs and enter into the kitchen. He immediately went pale and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else.

Mikey ignored him. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“He is. What would you even know about it?”

“I bet your mom pays him to do it then, or it’s cause his parents make him for some weird religious reason. No way he actually likes you.”

“Say that again, Mikey, and even your teeth won’t wanna spend time with you anymore!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” Tony was just about ready to lunge across the kitchen and slam the other boy’s face into the counter when the doorbell rang. Both of them froze.

From the staircase Ryan let out a small sigh of relief.

“It’s your house. Go answer the door.” The job really ought to fall to Tyler, who was left in charge on weekday afternoons as both Cappelletti parents worked in the city. The Dented Fenderz were making a ruckus again, however, so Mikey cautiously approached the door.

Ezra stood on the stoop. “I’m sorry if I’m a bit early, but is Anthony ready to go yet?”

“I’m ready!” Tony said brightly, grabbing his school bag from a hook by the door. “I didn’t think I’d see you for another hour, angel.”

“Now that the spring show is over, I’m afraid I don’t know what quite what to do with my time. I did, however, hear that The Frozen Cow has just opened up again for the summer season and I thought we might pop round before heading home. Would you be up for that?”

“Before dinner?” Tony asked.

“Well,” Ezra turned a bit pink. “I don’t suppose any of our parents need to know. I mean, I believe I’m supposed to get into a little mischief now that I’ve a license. You won’t tell them, will you, dear?”

Ezra looked so pleased with his own daring that Tony couldn’t help but grin back at him. “Not a word.”

He turned and waved, not bothering to hide his smirk as he shrugged at Mikey.

Not friends, his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no band that sounds more like Middle School to me than Good Charlotte. My friend was a big fan and we used to listen to them while we drew anime characters after school. As one did circa 2003.
> 
> Here's the song the kids were singing, if you're interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=desJKYvdq9A


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize (apologise?) to my British readers for any potential inaccuracies in the coming chapters.

July 2003

“Remember to listen to Edith and stay close to Ezra. And make sure to take a ton of pictures for me. And you can call me from the hotel if you need to but don’t feel like you have to. Oh, Tony, you’re going to have so much fun.” His mother was hugging him, squeezing him, kissing him on the cheek for all Terminal Seven to see.

Flushed, Tony rolled his eyes, fixing his hair when she finally let him go. “I’ll be fine, Mom. And I won’t get into any trouble. Promise.”

She nodded, gave him a watery smile, and then pulled him back in for another hug. “Oh, I love you so much, kiddo. Have a blast for me, okay?”

“Mom, we gotta go.” Tony wasn’t certain this was true, but the adults had spent the whole car ride worrying about how long security would take so it seemed pretty likely. Besides, he was going to die of embarrassment if this went on any longer.

“Okay,” She was actually wiping tears away. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom. Bye.” He turned, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and bit his treacherous lip to keep it from wobbling too much. He went to stand by Ezra, who had finished his own farewells with his father and was patiently waiting as his parents shared one last goodbye kiss.

Elijah gave his wife’s hand a squeeze as she pulled away from him. “I wish we could go all the way to the gate with you. Love you. Good luck.”

Both Maddy and Elijah waved enthusiastically as the three travelers stepped into the security line. The adults had spent the morning arguing over how early they should arrive and talking about how much easier a trip would have been just two years prior. Tony had never been on an airplane before, he’d never even been to an airport, but he wasn’t stupid.

He’d seen enough old movies to know that people used to be able to run dramatically through airports to beg their girlfriends not to leave them. He’d seen enough news to know why that wasn’t allowed anymore. Now there were only endless lines, snaking their way toward metal detectors, and brusk looking TSA employees.

The security line should have been a boring start to Tony’s greatest adventure, but his excitement was such that everything fascinated him. He gawked at fellow passengers, trying to guess where they all might be going and where they all might be coming from. He stared at the demanding signs ordering them all to take off their shoes and prepare their carry-on bags, despite the fact that they weren’t anywhere near the metal detectors yet.

There would have been even more to look at, if only he’d been taller. Tony was convinced he hadn’t grown so much as a hair over the past year. Before long he couldn’t even see if his mother was still waving goodbye.

He tried not to think too hard about that.

It was easier to forget when they finally reached the front of the line. Tony half hoped that he’d look suspicious enough that they might pull him out of line and use one of those weird wand things on him. Apparently no one found twelve-year-old boys very threatening though. He went through without any difficulty.

“Alright boys, we’ve got a little over an hour and a half before takeoff. How about we find the food court and get ourselves something to eat?” Edith asked, once the three of them were all cleared and reshod.

“That sounds wonderful,” Ezra agreed. Tony had thought he might be bubbling over with excitement, but he’d been calm so far that morning. “We were up so early, I wasn’t properly hungry yet for breakfast and I’m not so certain our in-flight lunch will be anything worth writing home about.”

“Will it be lunch or dinner? We’re flying double fast into the future, right?”

“That’s a good question, Tony. I suppose it’ll kind of be both!” Edith looked around at the crowds before adding, “You boys hold hands while we’re here. I don’t want anyone getting lost.”

Ezra, without a moment of hesitation, reached out. Tony, however, pulled back. “Do we have to? I’m not gonna wander off or something.”

“Even if you’re not wandering, it’s easy to get lost in a crowd. And you didn’t mind holding hands when we went into the city?” Edith said. Her voice was always soft and gentle when she spoke to him, as though he were still the little kid who’d come to stay in her home.

“New York was two and a half years ago. I wasn’t even ten yet.”

“We can stay close without the hand holding,” Ezra assured her mother. At this, Edith capitulated. Relieved, Tony fell in by Ezra’s side.

There was so much going on around them. People rushing and waiting, killing time in strange little shops. He felt alive just being here surrounded by the wonderful madness of people on the move. He loved the mayhem and the bustle. And he could look at all of it without getting lost.

Even the food court, which wasn’t anything particularly special, had a different energy to it than the sort you could find at a mall. Everyone here was on their way to somewhere more exciting than The Gap. Tony didn’t mind so much when Edith told Ezra and him to stay at the table and keep an eye on their bags. There was enough to stare at that he could have happily sat there for another hour at least. 

It took him a while to realize that Ezra had become quietly down cast.

“Are you okay? Are you nervous about seeing London again?”

“What? Oh! Oh no. To be honest I feel rather at peace with all that. Oddly content. It feels… right to be going home again.”

It was strange to hear him call a place home when he hadn’t been there since before he’d even met Tony. “What are you sad about then?”

“I’m not sad. I just… I’m probably being silly, but… Did I do something wrong?”

“Huh?”

“To you. You didn’t want to hold hands.”

Tony blinked. He’d assumed Ezra would understand. “ _You_ weren’t the problem. It’s the hand holding that’s the problem. That’s for little kids, angel. The only people who hold hands in middle school are like dating or something, or maybe with a little kid if you were babysitting, like you did with me when I was little. Now we’re both too old for that. I mean, you know. You’re in high school.”

Ezra’s eyes became very distant and the smile he wore was odd. “Yes, I suppose I just hadn’t realized that time was past now. It’s odd really, how quickly things change.”

“You sound like a grown up.”

“Don’t I usually?”

“Yeah, but like normally it’s in a knowing more than everyone else kind of way, instead of in a complaining about time going too fast kind of way,” Tony explained.

Ezra shrugged, “Perhaps I’m simply getting nostalgic now that I’m almost a senior.”

“Ugh, angel! That pun is really bad!” Tony threw his head back as he groaned and Ezra burst into laughter. There were a lot of sounds that Tony loved, but the sound of Ezra’s honest laughter was his favorite. He beamed at his friend until Edith returned with their food.

Tony was giddy all through the rest of their wait. He dragged Ezra into gift shops to look at the strange candies, over-priced books, and increasingly bizarre array of items that had been emblazoned with ‘I Heart NY’. Eventually Edith and Ezra corralled him into the sitting area by their gate. Even here he couldn’t get himself to sit. He loitered by the large viewing windows and stared out at the planes, willing himself not to press his nose against the glass like an overexcited toddler.

Even waiting to board was interesting. Tony begged Edith to let him hold his own ticket and he listened, with all the adults, for their section to be called. His heart leapt each time the overly practiced gate attendant read out the next group. When, at last, their group was summoned, Tony leapt to his feet, bouncing on his toes as their tickets were checked and they entered the long corridor leading to their plane.

He was excited as they walked past all the rich people to get to their seats.

He was excited when Ezra helped put his bag into overhead storage.

He was excited when he got the window seat.

And when the attendants made sure he was buckled in.

And when the captain’s voice came over the speakers.

And when the plane took off.

And for about another hour after that.

And then there were six hours left and Tony was painfully, miserably, bored.

Ezra and Edith weren’t. Ezra was utterly engrossed in some book he’d picked up in the airport. He kept chuckling and shaking his head, as though, whatever _The Da Vinci Code_ was, he found it hilarious. Edith was picking away at a book of word puzzles, occasionally leaning over to ask her son for his input.

Tony took out his ancient Gameboy Color, turned it on, played for a few minutes, and turned it off. He stared out the window at the unchanging clouds, fiddled with his in-flight entertainment screen, and wished he hadn’t left his Discman at home. He’d only been allowed two bags and his mother had told him he’d want to save space for things he might want to bring back. Dragging all his CDs half way across the world had sounded ridiculous when he’d been talking to her, but he regretted it now. Even just a few CDs would be better than nothing. He sighed and sank down in his seat.

Flying totally sucked.

“Are you feeling a bit restless, Anthony?” Ezra asked, tucking a bookmark into the pages of his book and shutting it in his lap.

“ ‘mfine. You can keep reading.”

“You’re not bored, then?” Strangely enough, Ezra sounded disappointed.

“I mean, yeah, I’m bored, but I’ll live.”

Ezra just about lit up before turning to ask his mother to excuse him so that he could pass her and get to the aisle. Tony frowned and raised an eyebrow at Edith. If she noticed his confusion, she pointedly ignored it.

After digging around in the overhead compartment for a time, Ezra returned and placed a wrapped, cube-shaped package in Tony’s lap. “You know I’ve been wanting to repay you for all of this and, after I found I didn’t hate driving quite so much as I’d expected, getting my license didn’t seem like the thing to fit the bill anymore. And then my mother and father offered to get me a present when I passed my driving exam. I think they intended one of those cellular phones but I thought I’d rather get something for you. I saw how much you seemed to enjoy those new commercials. And don’t worry, your mother helped me set it up and choose what would go on it. She said it’s all charged and ready to use.”

Tony knew what it was just from the hinting and tore into the paper with shaking hands. At the sight of a small white apple atop a black box, Tony’s eyes widened. Growing more careful in his ministrations, Tony unearthed a brand new iPod. It came to life beneath his hands, the glowing screen showing that his entire CD collection had already been added.

This was the coolest thing he’d ever owned.

“Is it alright? Do you like it, Anthony?” Ezra asked nervously.

For a moment, Tony couldn’t quite get any of himself to work. His voice had gone somewhere else and his head had forgotten how to nod. His abilities came back all at once, before he was really ready for them. With the box still in his lap, he threw himself against Ezra with an inelegant one armed hug.

If he’d been any taller he would probably have kissed Ezra on the cheek and then promptly died of embarrassment. As it was, he just sort of buried his face in the older boy’s shoulder.

“That good, then?”

Composing himself, Tony returned to his seat, bright red, and began to look at everything else that came in the box. In his surliest voice he managed, “It’s really cool, Ezra. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear. I hope it makes the traveling a little easier.”

It did. Once Tony had overcome his embarrassment and gotten his new white earbuds to stay put, he happily lost himself in music for the remaining hours of the trip.

When the plane finally touched down on English tarmac, he blearily returned to the real world. Renewed excitement battled exhaustion as they packed up their things and stumbled down the corridor into Heathrow Airport.

In Tony’s imagination, they would step off the plane into a land of Ezra’s memories, but it turned out there was a lot more waiting to be done first. They waited on transport from one part of the airport to another, to have their passports checked, to get their luggage back, and finally for a taxi to take them into the city proper.

“I keep thinking how strange and frightening it must have been for you when your father and I first picked you up. Even just watching the cars on the other side of the road puts you a bit off balance, doesn’t it?” Edith gave Ezra’s hand a squeeze as the cabbie helped to load their luggage into the back. Tony blinked. He’d been waiting to see the cars drive backwards the whole way here, but it had seemed so normal he’d forgotten to notice.

“You and Father were very welcoming and, if I’m remembering properly, I mostly just fell asleep.”

“Still, you were very brave about all of it. And I’m so glad that, with Tony’s gumption and the money from me teaching this year, we were able to bring you back for the first time. I wish we could have done it before.”

“I’m much happier that you spent the money you had helping out our neighbors than letting me go on a trip. Although,” And here he paused and stared at all the people and the cars, “I’m very glad we did this.”

Tony wasn’t sure where to look as the taxi made its way along the M4 motorway. On the one hand, he wanted to stare out the window at this whole new country that surrounded him. On the other hand, he wanted to watch Ezra stare out the window. His smile was distant and soft and wonderful. For much of the ride, Tony decided just to watch his friend. After all, the sun had set and, with the trees blocking much of his view, the road didn’t look so very different from the ones at home.

Perhaps there was a reason all those old timey colonists referred to that particular part of the country as _New_ England.

When there were buildings though, he turned his eyes outside. Nothing was drastically different and yet somehow everything was. The architecture between the two countries was close without being the same, the street signs bore the same information but with different shapes and colors. It was bit like going to a chain store a few towns over and finding the layout was just a little bit off from the one in your backyard.

That had to be the reason that it all felt strangely familiar.

In the front seat, Edith happily chatted with the driver, telling him far more than he was probably interested in knowing. By the time the surrounding world began to look like a real city, she’d told him all about Ezra’s life story. Maybe she hoped the driver would be reasonable about the fare if he knew they weren’t just regular tourists or maybe she thought any cab driver without a New York accent was trustworthy.

It was late and all three of them were exhausted when the cab finally pulled up outside their hotel. Although Tony had earned most of the money, Edith was in charge of doling it out. So, he and Ezra stood on the sidewalk, looking at the city around them.

Between all of the excitement and his jet lag, Tony was building up quite a headache, but even that couldn’t ruin this moment. He could’ve watched Ezra forever, his face bathed in street lights, as a world of long forgotten memories returned to him.

“We’ll see everything tomorrow, angel. I pro-” Tony was interrupted by his own yawn.

“I’d be a fool to doubt any of your promises, wouldn’t I? But I think we ought to get ourselves to bed as soon as soon as we’ve got our room keys, or we’ll both pass out on the pavement.” As Edith led the way into the hotel, Ezra held out his hand. Without thinking, Anthony took it.

It was hard to be cool and grown up all the time, particularly when one was exhausted.

* * *

In the grand scheme of his existence, Aziraphale really hadn’t spent all that much time in London. About a thousand years in Britain, perhaps, but fewer than that in the city. But, even if he lived another six millennia and never again called this place home, it would always be a part of him. It was the first place he’d ever felt properly settled, the first place where he’d known that Crowley wasn’t so very far away and that neither of them had any intention of picking up and leaving for any great length of time. It was the first place that he’d felt he belonged.

And, dear Lord, it was good to be back.

They’d gone full tourist for the first couple days, taking advantage of the open roof hop-on tour buses to see, as Anthony had put it last night “everything”. They’d only a week, after all, and there were certain things that were all but required on one’s first visit to London. He could have done without the guides, but other than that he enjoyed himself.

Perhaps it was because he’d never bothered visiting the London Eye or stopping to view the changing of the guard, that none of this felt overwhelming. He’d half expected himself to break down in some fit of nostalgia or homesick loneliness, but he was really, remarkably content.

Although he’d done nothing to build the city, except the odd miracle here or there, Aziraphale was proud to show it off. Edith and Anthony were an excellent audience, fascinated and eager, with a touch of that American excitability that Aziraphale had grown used to. It was a joy to watch Anthony’s eyes light up with wonder at every stop and every sight.

If he was suffering any deja vu induced headaches, they weren’t enough to slow him down. There had been a moment, on their first afternoon, when he’d clearly recognized St. Paul’s Cathedral and Aziraphale had spent a moment desperately trying to remember what connection Crowley had to the place.

None, it turned out. Anthony knew it from _Mary Poppins_.

No, the only time the past crept up on him in their string of tourist activities was at the Tower of London. He’d gotten through most of it just fine, stopping for the occasional rest as they made their way through halls of arms and armor, gawked at jewels, and greeted the ravens. It was the medieval torture devices that did him in. One look at a stretching rack and he’d dropped like a stone.

It was good thing Aziraphale had finally reached his proper height and Anthony was still just a tiny slip of a thing. He’d been able to carry the boy out himself, while Edith panicked beside him. Anthony had revived quickly enough, with nothing bruised except his ego.

He was back in good humor by the time they’d reached the gift shop. In a flourish he announced their next stop. They had tickets to a show that evening. They were going to The Globe.

Aziraphale had practically squeezed the life out of Anthony in his excitement. He’d wiggled in uncontained anticipation the entire cab ride over. He could not have been more happy. That was, until they arrived.

The original had burnt down of course, been rebuilt, been demolished, all back before 1700. Aziraphale knew all that; he’d been there. But he’d known they’d been working on replica, had been excited to see it before all this humanity business had stuck him on the other side of the ocean for its grand opening. He’d thought he would enjoy it, but it felt wrong now. Here was a near perfect copy in not quite the right spot, a vision of the past lost among modernity.

“Are you alright, honey?” Edith asked when he stood still on the pavement.

“Oh, of course. Just tickety boo.” He shook himself and followed after, trying his best to seem unbothered, “Aren’t we a bit early for the show? We should go get dinner somewhere.”

“There’s tours too. I thought you’d wanna do that before we eat, since they don’t run ‘em right up until the show starts,” Anthony explained.

“Right. A tour. That should be fun. Just the sort of thing I’d love.”

The boy fixed those clever golden eyes on Aziraphale and it felt as though he were under a microscope. “Do you not wanna go in?”

“Of course I do.” He managed a more honest smile this time, mostly by actively convincing himself that it would be fun. He gestured for Anthony to go ahead, “Lay on, Macduff.”

“You’re so weird,” Anthony told him, but at least that meant he wasn’t worrying anymore.

The tour began pleasantly enough, and Aziraphale actually started to believe his own lies. Down below the theater, in an area that had no historical equivalent, they observed props from past shows and their guide explained all sorts of classic theatrical trickery. Aziraphale, who hadn’t gotten into close up magic until over a century after Shakespeare’s heyday, had never paid much attention to how any of this was done. It was quite a treat to learn about it now and remember how it had brought to life the shows he’d seen so long ago.

In better spirits, he was able to enter the theater without so much as a nervous swallow. If he really thought about it, this was all rather a treat. Sitting up in the gallery, he could picture just how it had all been back in the day, and admire what a wonderful job the historians and builders had done in bringing it back to life.

It was when the tour group made its way down to the pit and stood before the stage that Aziraphale came apart. Here he was, standing where he once stood but had never stood, beside a creature who had been with him and yet had not existed. It was all alive for him then, Will, Burbage, that lovely young woman who’d sold him the grapes, Crowley and that stupid beard. Aziraphale had only had to look at him and he’d made the show a hit.

He was used to remembering things so long ago that no mortal left living had experienced them. But it never hurt like this, because there was always one other being who understood. If they’d both been here, properly, it would have been a laugh. They’d have stood at the back of the crowd of tourists and whispered to one another about the shows they’d seen and the other members of the audience some centuries ago.

Now the memories were his alone and that made all the sweetness a touch bitter.

“Angel. You’re crying.” Aziraphale blinked. His lashes were wet. He hadn’t noticed before now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t realize. It’s nothing to be concerned about, Anthony. Don’t look at me so.” He couldn’t stand the sight of that little face pinched with worry. He wiped his tears clear and did his best attempt at a smile. “I’m alright, see?”

Anthony did not appear convinced. All around them tourists snapped photos, filling the theater with the drone of disposable cameras. Edith was among them. Aziraphale desperately hoped she wouldn’t look over at him.

“I think the tour’s almost over,” Anthony said, “And we don’t have to come back for the show, if you don’t want to.”

“Miss _Twelfth Night_? Heavens no!” He did not entirely have to fake that scandalized tone. “Besides the tickets are for gallery seats, yes?”

The boy nodded.

“I’ll be fine then. There will be seats. I’ll be fine. I’m just exhausted, I suppose. We’re probably still a touch jet lagged and we’ve run ourselves ragged these past few days. It will be nice to sit and watch a show this evening and perhaps we can slow it down a bit tomorrow. Take it all in at a more leisurely pace.” A thought occurred to Aziraphale and he hastily added, “Unless, of course, you have other things planned.”

“Nah. I figured you’d want some time to just kind of see stuff from when you were little, just chill and walk around and remember. I mean, I figured you might want to see museums or something too, but I haven’t got anything else specific planned. Not until the last day anyway.”

A smile, smaller but far more real than the one he’d worn moments ago, crept onto Aziraphale’s face. He brushed a lock of hair from Anthony’s brow. “You do know me so well, don’t you? You sweet, wonderful boy.”

“Geeze, alright, angel. Tell the whole world, why don’t ya?” Anthony huffed.

William Shakespeare had died nearly 400 years ago. The Globe was not where it had been. So very much had changed.

But even reincarnation could not stop Crowley from making sure Aziraphale got exactly what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale briefly mentions that Tony liked the commercials for the iPod. For those of you who didn't get to see these (either due to age or nation) here's the first one that ran: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DjFgMyDtKSU
> 
> It was some really good advertising.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today the London trip concludes.

They’d slept in that morning on Edith’s orders. Although she hadn’t caught Ezra crying in the theater, her mom senses were strong enough to know that something wasn’t right. That, combined with Tony’s collapse at the Tower of London, was enough for her to force them to rest. There’d be no rushing out the door at 7:00 to go sightseeing. She’d knock on their door at 9:30 and not a minute earlier. Her boys needed to sleep.

Tony had grumbled about this at first, not because he disagreed but because he would have liked to have made the decision himself. Still it really wasn’t so bad just spending time in the hotel room. They were completely unsupervised, if you ignored the fact that Edith was three doors down and across the hall.

It made him feel like a grown up.

Tony woke well before Ezra and took a shower even though no one had told him he had to. The shampoo he used at home smelled like candy and came in a bottle that was shaped like a fish, so he felt very mature using the fancy, little soaps provided by the hotel. This feeling only multiplied as he shrugged into one of the available bathrobes, filled up the kettle that came with the room, and turned on the television.

By the time Ezra awoke, Tony was lounging in bed, sipping tea that he didn’t actually like, and watching BBC World News. He had never been more classy. Pinky out, he gave Ezra slight nod, “Good morning, angel.”

Ezra blinked, blinked twice more, and then burst into laughter. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Getting the morning started right. You know how much I worry about the…” He glanced at the screen. “congestion charge zone.”

“You’ve no idea what that is,” Ezra told him fondly. He yawned and stretched before going to make his own cup of tea.

Tony liked having his own room back home that he could fill with records and CDs and instruments, but it was nice to share a room with Ezra again, the way they had when he’d been six. There was no one else’s company that he enjoyed before breakfast.

They chatted, sipped, and flipped through the television channels before panicking at 9:20 when they realized Edith would arrive soon. Still, they managed to make themselves presentable by the time she knocked on the door.

There were no plans for the day, outside of finding something to eat, and so they let Ezra lead them wherever he might want to go. They’d spent so much of those first two days going to all the special places, that it was interesting just to walk down the street. It gave a different sense of the city, one more like what an actual Londoner might experience.

Ezra walked the streets with ease, although he openly admitted he wasn’t quite sure where he was taking them. Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen him so confident or at ease. Even when they’d visited New York, with all its museums, theaters, and restaurants, the energy hadn’t quite fit him. Tony had loved the crushing crowds and the angled buildings blocking out the sky, but that wasn’t Ezra. He belonged here, where the sidewalks weren’t quite so packed, where the businesses actually closed for the evening, and where the history went back farther than Tony could comprehend.

Eventually, to no one’s particular surprise, Ezra led them into a bakery. It was late morning, between the usual breakfast crowd and lunchtime visitors. They had the whole place to themselves and were able to settle at one of two small tables that had been pushed against the window.

Ezra ordered for them, striking up a pleasant conversation with the baker all about how he was showing off the city to his American companions. “I’m aiming to make the very best impression, so we’ll take whatever you think will do the job.”

“If you’d like to give them something properly British, I think it’s got to be scones, doesn’t it?” The baker asked, as she pulled a few from the glass display case. “Do they make these in the states?”

“They think they do, but they don’t,” Ezra told her.

Tony wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that.

“Well, we’ll show them the right way then.” She wrinkled her eyes and laughed. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Two teas and, if you wouldn’t mind, just a cup of milk for my young friend there. For here would be just lovely, thank you.” He turned around, “Anthony would you help me carry everything?”

He hopped up and joined Ezra by the counter, trying not to stare longingly at the cinnamon rolls they wouldn’t be eating. “What’s a scawn, anyway?”

The baker laughed again. “You might know it as sc-oh-n. There’s plenty here who’d agree with you, but I’m from up North and it’s a hill I’m willing to die on.”

“But it’s spelled like ‘cone’,” he insisted.

She handed him a plate of pastries and his cup of milk, “It’s also spelt like ‘gone’, though. Isn’t it?”

English, Tony decided, was kind of a dumb language no matter who was speaking it.

The scones, however you said it, did not look like the ones he’d had at home. This was good, because he’d never liked those. People would bring them sometimes, to the receptions after church. They’d always been triangular shaped and much too hard. He kept expecting to like them, but then he’d take a bite and was always disappointed.

These, however, were round and far fluffier looking, almost like those Pillsbury biscuits his mom made from those tubes of dough they sold at the grocery. These smelled even better.

When Ezra returned to the table, with tea and condiments on a small tray, he showed Edith and Tony how to eat them properly. As delicious as they were, they weren’t quite so enjoyable as watching Ezra enjoy them. He always appreciated good food, but he was extra pleased now because it tasted like his home.

Before they left, Edith made friends with the baker, eventually convincing her to jot down the recipe so she could try making some for Ezra when they were all back in Connecticut.

Then off they went, back to the streets of London to wander wherever Ezra’s feet might guide them. Tony couldn’t tell if he had a plan or not, but Ezra seemed so content that he didn’t bother to ask. They went at a leisurely pace, stopping occasionally to admire window displays or pop into the odd store.

Somewhere along the way, Ezra’s body language changed. His hands found one another and started to twist as they so often did when he was nervous. His pace changed too, slowing as he looked around at everything more carefully. Tony fell into step beside him. “You alright?”

“Hmm?” Ezra shook himself, as though coming back from somewhere else. “Oh, yes. It’s just… this is my old neighborhood.”

Tony looked around with fresh eyes, trying to imagine a small Ezra walking these streets with his family. There was so much going on here, restaurants and clubs and theaters, it was no wonder he felt out of place in the upper-class nothingness that was Westwich.

“Is your store around here? The one you and your… your family used to own?” Edith asked. Ezra very rarely spoke about the family he’d had before coming to the United States. Tony suspected they hadn’t been very nice, maybe not as bad as his own father, but certainly not good enough for Ezra. The book store though, that was something Ezra had would happily talk about at any opportunity.

“Yes. It should be just down the road here, actually. At the next corner.” Still clearly nervous, Ezra began to babble. “It oughtn’t to have changed at all, not like everything else. For one thing, mother, I don’t imagine you’d have found the neighborhood quite your style back in the day. We were rather out of place in the eighties. It’s still mine, you know. Still in the family. I’ll get it back when I come of age along with whatever sum of money has been building in the bank. At least that’s how it ought to work, if everything was set up properly. It should all be very- oh.”

Ezra went silent.

Before them was a building, seemingly older than all the ones around it. It’s lower story was mostly a purplish, brownish, sort of red, accept for two off white pillars by the entrance. Up above the door, in clearly printed lettering, were the words “A.Z. FELL AND Co.”. For the first time Tony thought he understood why Ezra, despite leaving behind so much, had never been willing to give up his last name. It connected him to this place.

Ezra stepped forward, as though he were in some sort of trance, and put his face so close to the window that his nose was nearly touching it. Tony was surprised that he’d want to look in, considering there was probably nothing left after the fire.

He shook his head. No. Ezra’s family had died when their home had been burnt, not the shop. Why did he always misremember that? He could feel his headache growing, that overwhelming sort of itch he used to get all the time when he was little. He’d had a constant low grade version going for most of the trip, but it was small enough to ignore for the most part. That wasn’t true now, and it only got worse when he stepped up to Ezra’s side to peer in himself.

It looked exactly the way he always imagined whenever Ezra talked about it. Exactly. He’d gotten it all down even to the angle of the bookshelves. He had to be misremembering. He couldn’t have gotten it right. Shivering, Tony turned around, shoving his hands in his pockets to stare instead at the street.

“This place is amazing!” Edith said, looking in where Tony had stepped away, “It fits you so well. It does make me feel a little worse that your father and I didn’t have any bookshelves waiting when we first brought you home. Do you think we could go inside?”

Ezra sobbed.

Edith, who’d been staring in through the window, and Tony, who’d been staring out at the street both turned to look at him. He was standing as he always did, straight and prim, but his shoulders shook and tears rolled down his face.

“Oh, honey!” Edith pulled him into a hug, leaving Tony to stand uselessly by. There was nothing he could do but wonder what it was like to hug your mother when she was shorter than you.

Ezra, as was his way, quickly forced himself to recover and immediately began to talk down his own emotions. “I’m sorry for making a scene. I’m being quite ridiculous.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s perfectly understandable. This must be a lot for you.”

“It is a bit more overwhelming than I’d expected. I don’t think I’d properly realized how much I missed it.” Edith produced a pack of tissues from her purse and began to dab at her son’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, angel,” Tony murmured, when Ezra’s face was dry again. “I shoulda taken you to Japan or something. This was a stupid idea.”

“Don’t you dare say that! This has been wonderful. Yes, parts of it have been hard, but there are some types of sadness that are good for the soul. They’re… cleansing. Coming home is like that, I think.”

Tony looked up at him, without raising his chin. “But it’s kind of mean, isn’t it? Making you see everything and then making you leave again?”

“I’d rather see it fleetingly than not all. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, and all that. That’s simply how it has to be.” Ezra managed a smile. “Now, if you’re all prepared for the possibility of me bursting into tears again and up for a bit of a hike, there’s a favorite park of mine I’d like to show you.”

Tony lingered on the steps of the too familiar shop, as Ezra and Edith started off down the street. Maybe this was how things were now but Ezra was wrong, they didn’t _have_ to be. He didn’t have to go back to America, not forever.

* * *

They took a cab back to the hotel for lunch. Aziraphale had needed that. He was physically worn out from walking and emotionally wrung out from centuries of memory. Anthony too, had looked like a rest might do him good. It was St. James that had done it. The boy had been fine for the most part, but whenever they passed a place of particular importance- the band stand, the spot by the pond where they’d argued over holy water, the cart where Heaven and Hell had come to get revenge- he would become clingy and unsettled.

Lunch had been just the thing to revive them and they were all ready to go out again, just not to places so emotional heady. Their hotel was a short walk to University College of London, or whatever assembly of those words it was going by these days, and Aziraphale suggested they take a look at their art museum.

It was close, it was temperature controlled, and entry was free. Anthony might find it a tad boring, but other than that it was perfect.

As it turned out, he’d completely misjudged Anthony. To a small extent, he was interested in the art, to a greater extent he was interested in the College. He kept asking Aziraphale questions. What’s the difference between a university and a college? Do you have to pick what you’re going to study before you even show up? How do you get in? Where do you live?

Eventually Edith, eager to encourage his interest in higher education, suggested they see if any campus tours were available. It turned into far more walking than Aziraphale had initially signed up for and made him fret about the college tours that undoubtedly awaited upon his return to the states. Still, he didn’t complain. It was a bit fun to hear the history of a place that had been in London for nearly as long as his shop and it had been delightful to watch Anthony charm the entire tour group, who’d initially been leery of the odd American child constantly raising his hand.

And even if they’d accomplished nothing but getting Anthony’s questions answered, that would have been enough. He’d been so pale faced and shaken before lunch, if taking home a copy of every brochure on campus made him happy, so be it.

Aziraphale watched him add the brochures to the collection of tourist maps he’d been gathering for Maddy and shook his head. Crowley had always been a little odd about what he kept as souvenirs.

* * *

The next two days passed in leisurely relaxation. They did nothing but go to various museums, shops, and unknown little restaurants. It was the way Aziraphale had originally intended to spend all his time waiting for Crowley to stop being human and come back to him. For all he’d had to suffer through, Aziraphale supposed he was happy things had turned out as they did. None of these things were ever quite so lovely on his own, particularly if there was no one to tell them about later. Still, it was all quite splendid just now and he was quite put out when they’d reached the afternoon of the last full day of their trip and he realized they’d be leaving shortly.

“I suppose we ought to find something special to do to celebrate the end of all this. Where shall we go next?” he asked Edith as they walked together out of the National Portrait Gallery. 

She smiled. “Back to the hotel, I think. Tony said you both need to get cleaned up.”

Aziraphale blinked. “For what?”

She shrugged, so he turned to the boy who’d been following close behind.

Tony gave a cheeky grin and only said, “Remember, I said I had one more thing planned.”

So back they went to the hotel, to wash and brush, and make themselves fresh. Aziraphale could get no hint about what they were doing, except that it required formal dress. He was never one to balk at a chance to dress the way he liked, but it was odd to see Anthony put on a button down shirt without having to be told.

It was even odder when he asked Aziraphale to help him tie a tie.

“I’ve never seen you dress like this except on Christmas. Would you please tell me what we’re doing?” Aziraphale asked as he helped Tony dress. Just because he preferred bow ties, didn’t mean he was incompetent.

Anthony rolled his eyes as he pulled on his suit jacket. “It’s a _surprise_ , angel.”

“Oh, well if it’s a surprise then I suppose I’ve no right to be curious.” Aziraphale humphed. Then his mind caught up with his eyes. “Since when have you owned a full suit?”

“Angel, if I have to dress up for orchestra concerts, I’m going to _dress up_ for orchestra concerts. Now hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

The mystery deepened when they met Edith in the lobby. She was still dressed in her most touristy pair of jean shorts. Of course, they continued to tell him nothing, down to the point of Anthony whispering their destination to the cabby before he’d even let Aziraphale get into the vehicle.

It was during the ride that he began to get an inkling, but the idea was so absurd that he squashed it immediately. And yet, with every turn of the cab his theory became more plausible. He knew these buildings. He knew these streets. He knew exactly where they must be headed, but still he was stunned when they stopped where he’d expected them to go.

Aziraphale sat, frozen in the back seat, staring at the entrance to The Ritz.

“Come on, angel. We got reservations and there’s no way they’re letting me in by myself.” Anthony grabbed him by one arm and pulled him out onto the pavement.

Edith leaned out the window of the taxi. “I’ll come back in an hour and a half and wait for you guys outside. Have fun! I want to hear everything about it.”

She’d already left before Aziraphale got any portion of his brain working again. He stated the obvious. “She’s not coming with us?”

“Well, originally I just wanted the two of us to go on the whole trip without anybody else, but our parents said that wasn’t going to happen. But I still wanted to do _something_ without any grown-ups around. Although now I’m worried they might not let us in, once they realize we’re just a couple of kids.”

“You wanted to do something without adult supervision and you chose… afternoon tea in a fancy hotel?” Aziraphale’s heart was fit to burst and his affection only became more over whelming, as the boy gave a sheepish nod.

“Well, you sounded so happy when you were talking about it back home. I figured you’d be bummed out if we came all the way here and you didn’t get to go.” He bit his lip and gave the door a nervous glance. “I really hope they let us in…”

“The trick to getting anywhere, my dear boy, is to act as though you belong there.” Aziraphale, at The Ritz in suit and bow tie, felt more as though he belonged than he had in a very long time.

* * *

Tony was not sure he would ever have described Ezra as confident before, but he certainly could now. While Tony followed, a few nervous steps behind him, Ezra strode in through the door as though he’d done it a dozen times. He did not look as though he were worried that someone might bar them entry for being too young or too loud or too American. He floated in on a cloud of certainty.

For his part, Tony felt very strange indeed. Half of him felt completely out of place. His whole apartment could fit in the lobby they passed through. Everything here was fancy and grown up. Someone was bound to notice that he was none of those things. He was certain that just by looking they’d know his accent was flat and that the violin he played at school had been rented at a discount.

At the same time, however, he had that same old sensation of having experienced something before. The one that made his brain itch and his head throb a little, but it wasn’t bad. It was almost pleasant, less the way he’d felt by that stupid gazebo the other day and more the way he’d felt the first time he’d heard Queen.

“Yes, we’ve reservations for two under… Jay. Is that right, Anthony?” Ezra had stopped to speak to a host and was now looking back at Tony curiously. Afraid of his own accent, Tony nodded rather than speak.

“Right this way, sirs.” And then they were being led to their seats. If anyone had noticed that they shouldn’t’ve been there, they were all too classy to say anything about it.

Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was that Ezra seemed to fit the place like a glove. He looked the way Elijah did in church, both in awe and utterly self-assured. He ran his fingers over the napkins and the menus with the sort of reverence due to holy relics. Tony thought for a moment that he might cry, but Ezra was beyond that now. He was too at peace for tears.

Ezra happily fussed over tea options, choosing for both himself and Tony, who had not realized there were that many types of tea to begin with. When the waiter had gone and they were left to their own devices, he beamed across the table.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but thank you, Anthony. From the very bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Tony didn’t know what to do with himself when Ezra looked at him like that, all soft and melty and perfect. He felt like maybe his stomach might try to climb out of his mouth. Instead of saying thank you he said something dumb instead. “You think they’d let me play the piano?”

Ezra’s laugh was airy. “No, my dear. I’m afraid not. I imagine that job is a rather difficult one to get.”

“I figured,” Tony said nervously, “But I wish I could, it’s got a real nice sound to it.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure you’d do a wonderful job.”

Before long, their tea arrived, and Tony promptly ruined his by adding so much cream and sugar that it no longer resembled the original beverage. The food came shortly afterward, fancy little sandwiches and beautiful desserts arrayed on a multilevel platter.

Ezra had left church now and had gone straight to heaven. With each bite, he hummed and closed his eyes, transported somewhere that Tony could never follow. Ezra might have wondered what good he’d done to deserve this, but as far as Tony was concerned, he deserved far more.

Ezra had saved him. Ezra had loved him when no one else was able, when even his mother was too far gone to care for him. Ezra forgave him whenever he was wrong and praised him whenever he did right. He was kinder than anyone else in the world, better than anyone Tony had ever met.

He didn’t deserve just to come here once. He deserved to come here a thousand times and look that happy every time he did. He deserved museums and theaters and fun little restaurants. He deserved to live somewhere he belonged, where he was confident enough to hold his chin up high.

Ezra deserved London all the time.

Even if that meant Tony couldn’t have him anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To balance out all the Christmas chapters that wound up getting posted at the height of summer, please enjoy this summer vacation chapter now that it's late December.

They had been back from England for just under a week now, and already something was amiss. Aziraphale was certain of it. He could hear the Clarks in the kitchen, voices just hushed enough that he couldn’t make out any of what they were saying. He knew the tone though, knew it as well as any real sixteen year old boy. It was the sort of tone that came before _A Conversation_ and he’d been human long enough now that it set every nerve in his body on edge. 

He briefly considered making himself scarce but there was nowhere to go. His room would not be far enough, anywhere by car without permission would only cause more trouble, and he could not stop by the Jays’ apartment because they’d gone out for the day.

Aziraphale had been happy when they hadn’t asked him to join. Maddy had been taking her yearly vacation days one at a time, instead of in a single go, and had decided it was well past time Anthony get a proper day at an amusement park. The two of them would no doubt have a lovely time shrieking their heads off at top speeds; Aziraphale could imagine very few things he would enjoy less.

But having _A Conversation_ was one of them.

He’d nearly decided to disappear into the church sanctuary and do his reading there, when Edith and Elijah entered the room. She was carrying a tray of snacks before her like a peace offering. Whatever they wanted to talk about was going to be time consuming but at least it seemed he wasn’t in any sort of trouble. Aziraphale lay his copy of _War and Peace_ on his lap and primly folded his hands together. At this point it was best to get this over with.

The Clarks settled themselves down as well, Edith beside him and Elijah on the coffee table. For whatever reason, that was his usual position for important parenting moments- at least ones that required eye contact. “Hey buddy, you got some free time?”

It was July, of course he had. Aziraphale was more polite than he felt. “Yes. Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

“Cutting right to the chase there, huh?” Elijah chuckled. Aziraphale got the sense that if he were still small this would have been a prime moment for a hair ruffle. “Well, we’ve talked a little about this before, but we’re running out of time for you to just sort of think about it. There’s about a month left before school and, if we’re going to do any traveling in August, we’re past the time we should have been planning.”

Aziraphale felt as though he’d missed something. He raised an eyebrow.

Edith spoke gently. “I know thinking about it makes you a little nervous, but we need to talk about college. Have taken a look at the book we got you?”

The book had appeared on the coffee table mid-May, in what was perhaps Edith’s most ingenious parenting move on record. Aziraphale had been avoiding the topic like a professional, but she’d known he wouldn’t avoid a book. He’d been curious. He’d picked it up, thumbed through it, and relocated it to the desk in his room.

He’d mostly ignored it after that, after all there’d been more pressing matters to be excited over with the then upcoming trip to London. But he had looked at it occasionally, alternately shaking his head over the prices and losing himself in fantasies of ivory towers.

“I’ve given it a bit of a look, yes.”

“Are there any places you’d like to tour? We’ve got most of August so, if there needs to a bit of a road trip, we’ve still got time.” Elijah sounded nearly as excited as if he’d been the one searching for schools. “Even if we have to find our way straight across the country we can go. Where are you looking?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d fancy going clear across the country…”

“That’s fine. I mean, the North East has some of the country’s best schools anyway. And, with your grades, buddy, and your charity work with the church and everything you’ve done with the drama club, I think the sky’s the limit for you. I bet you could get into Yale or Harvard, and they’ve got amazing literature programs, if that’s what you’re interested in. Yale’s got a pretty amazing top-notch program too, I think. So do some of the New York schools.”

Aziraphale clasped _War and Peace_ so tightly that the tips of his fingers went white. This was all a bit too much, a bit too real. He’d grown accustomed to this odd situation of his. It wasn’t perfect. There were limits on his freedom and far too many secrets, but there were benefits to it too. Anthony was a minute away. Aziraphale could look out for him.

Thinking about this brought up too many unpleasant prospects. There was the money for one. He’d be wasting the Clarks’ savings on an education he didn’t really need or, worse, he’d get a scholarship that ought to be given to a real human youth. Then there was the prospect of choosing what to study. He’d have to decide, once and for all, what he was going to do with this cursed blessing he’d been given.

And worst of all, it made him think more about whether Anthony needed him anymore. Whether it was unfair to Crowley for him to stick too close and limit his Free Will.

Aziraphale must have looked rather pale. Edith put a hand on his knee. “Honey, you’re not making any big decision today. You’re just choosing a few places you want to take a look at. There’s no applying for months yet and then you won’t have to choose until you get acceptance letters. You’ve got a whole year of high school left and, even when the time finally comes for you to move out, I promise, however scary it might be, it’ll be even more exciting.”

“Yeah, bud, this is just the window shopping part. There’s no commitments.”

Aziraphale looked at them both. They were not perfect, far from it, but they’d given him a home. They’d helped keep Anthony close. Whatever else he’d had to do deal with, Aziraphale had not been lonely. What would he do in some new place without them?

Without Anthony.

“You know, I really don’t see the need to go very far. A degree is mostly about just getting the paper work for a good job, isn’t it?”

The Clarks both looked taken aback. Elijah’s brow furrowed, “I mean, it can be… but-”

“And I wouldn’t want you to spend all too much. The United States does have such absorbent higher education costs. I’d be perfectly happy living at home and just commuting to one of the local community colleges. That’d get the job done.”

Edith bit her lip. “I’m not sure you’d be really challenged there, Ezra.”

“Or the state school would be fine. We could do a tour of UCONN if you’d like. They have a campus not all too far from here. And, I suppose if you think it would be entertaining, we could have a gander at Yale. Although, with a number of students applying from this school district, I think I might be at a bit of a disadvantage there.”

“If you’re that sure you want to stay in state, then we’ll take a look at the times and set up some tours. This’ll be fun!” Elijah had worked himself back to previous levels of excitement.

Edith gave Aziraphale a hug. “I wouldn’t want to stop you from spreading your wings, but I can’t say I’d be disappointed to have you around the house a little longer.”

He gave her a weak smile and tried to convince himself he was staying because Anthony might need him and not because it was the other way around.

* * *

They had waited in line for what felt like an eternity- up the twisting staircase inside a false light house, standing on dripping steps. Tony was uncomfortable. He was hot, sticky, bored, and, for the first time in his life, feeling a little too aware of how he looked in a bathing suit. Maybe it was his age that made him feel like everyone was staring at how knobby his knees were, or maybe it was the group of teenage boys who kept glancing at he and his mother. Either they were judging him or they were checking out Maddy, and neither possibility made the wait any shorter.

There’d been a lot of lines that day, each more painful than the last. Every time he began to think that it wouldn’t be worth it. Every time he wondered if waiting around for thirty seconds of fun made any sense at all. But then he’d come to the front of the line and he wouldn’t wonder anymore.

That happened now. They emerged at the top of the lighthouse and got a full view of the park. He could see the roller coasters, the lake, the carousel, the flume ride, the games, the colors, and a man laying down on his back about to be sent down a whirling tube of water, darkness, speed, and abject terror.

All discomfort forgotten, Tony grinned.

“Alright kiddo, we’re almost up.” His mother bent over so he could hear her over the din of the park. “You want me to go down first so that I’m waiting for you, or do you want to go first and get it over with?”

His smile turned wicked. “I want you to go first so I can hear you shriek.”

“Fine, evil child. I’ll go first.”

He watched, in gleeful anticipation, as the ride attendant directed his mother to lie down and cross her arms across her chest. A moment later she had gone screaming into a dark plastic tube, her eyes screwed shut.

Then it was his turn. Tony lay down and stared up at the sky, bright and blue as anything. The attendant gave him a little shove and the world disappeared. Tony could hear nothing but the rush of water and his own laughing scream bouncing off the red walls of the slide. He could feel the seams, where tubes had been riveted together, bump against his back. He had no control and his stomach had migrated all the way up to his ears. Tony was loving every second of it.

And then it was over. Out he came at the bottom, joyfully disoriented, the long, miserable wait erased completely from his mind. He staggered to his feet and then in the direction of his mother.

“Let’s do that again!”

“I thought we were going to head back into the main park and hit some of the roller coasters a second time before going home. We can only wait in so many endless lines today.”

She had a point. The body slide was exciting and all but the park’s wooden coaster offered the kind of thrills that resulted in souvenir photos. It wasn’t really a contest. So off they headed, to the rented lockers and changing rooms, dripping chlorine water onto park pavement. When they reemerged and found one another, Maddy insisted on reapplying sunscreen, as though they both didn’t already have twice as many freckles as they’d had that morning.

Fun as the rides were, Tony was happy just walking through the park. He thrived on the energy of it, the chorus of joyous screams, the wild laughter, the piping carousel music in one direction, the beeping of fair games from another. Everything was color, lights, movement, and stimulation. He could have lived here.

It was almost a shame to head up the path toward the rollercoaster queue and leave it all a little ways behind just to get in line again. It was much more fun to be moving among things than to be stuck in close quarters with a bunch of sweaty people. Still, there was an awning here, above the snaking park patrons, and it was always nice to get out of the sun.

“So, am I right in thinking you’ve enjoyed yourself today?” His mother asked him, leaning against one of the wooden line markers as the group came to a standstill.

“Duh.”

She grinned, “Well, I figured. But I was a little worried after this morning. You seemed pretty put out when I told you Ezra couldn’t come.”

She was being nice about it. He’d sulked for the first half hour of the car ride there. He’d only stopped because she’d put on Bohemian Rhapsody and it was physically impossible not to sing along.

“He probably wouldn’t’a had much fun anyway. He’d have just sat in the shade somewhere and waited for us half the time. I don’t think he likes roller coasters very much and he told me once he didn’t like wearing a bathing suit, so he probably wouldn’t have even liked the pool.”

“You know, I’d never thought about it, but I really haven’t ever seen him in a bathing suit. He doesn’t feel bad about himself, does he?” She might have been Tony’s mother, but she doted on Ezra just the same and was clearly worried about him.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t _think_ that’s it. It might be a little like with his bow ties. He likes the way they look, but he doesn’t always wear them ‘cause he doesn’t want to put up with other people teasing him. But I think it’s mostly just he’s more comfortable with more clothes on. I think if he could choose, everyone would be in three piece suits all the time, like in _The Christmas Carol_ or something.”

“As long as he’s not beating himself up about the way he looks or anything. Being a teenager can be so hard. Every little flaw you see in yourself, you’re convinced everybody’s staring at it. Truth is, almost everyone else is too busy worrying about their own flaws to notice.”

Tony glanced down at his skinny legs and stupid knees then back to his mother who, after five years of taking good care of herself, was just about perfect. “What were you worried about?”

“Dumb stuff. I hated my freckles and the way my nose was turned up and I wanted my…” She seemed to remember that they were in a busy theme park. “I wanted some things to be bigger… if you catch my drift.”

Tony flushed. There were certain things he didn’t want to think about in relation to his mom.

“It was all silly though, is the point. I was stressing about things no one else really noticed, but it felt so important at the time. I can tell you not to worry about those sort of things but, to a certain extent, I think it’s pretty natural. You’re coming up on all that, so if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Or you can talk to Ezra, or Elijah even, if it’s something you’d rather tell a guy about.”

Tony, who very much did not want to continue talking about the trials of growing up while in line for a roller coaster, valiantly changed the subject. “It’s no big deal or nothing, but how come Ezra couldn’t come with us? Was it just that you wanted some bonding time or something?”

“Well, I didn’t think he’d like to come, and I _did_ want some time just with you- after all, I only just got you back from England. But I actually did ask. His parents were planning to have a big talk with him about applying for colleges today. He’s been putting them off whenever they ask, but they need August to take him to look at schools. There’s no more time for him to wait. I didn’t press the issue since, like you said, theme parks don’t really seem like his cup of tea.”

Tony had gone rigid. He glanced over his shoulder, there were too many people behind them. He’d never get out. Seizing Maddy by the hand he pleaded, “We’ve gotta go back!”

“We already went on the coaster this morning, you weren’t scared then. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not the coaster!” Tony waved his hands about emphatically. “I was supposed to be there. I need to help!”

“Be there?” She cocked her head to the side. “For the college conversation?”

“Yes! I’ve been doing research since my jetlag wore off. I made a Powerpoint on Elijah’s computer and everything.”

“You made a Powerpoint?” Maddy smiled. She wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

“Yes. I have to make sure he goes to the right place. It’s important.” He deflated slightly as he came to the end of his plea, shoulders falling low as he raised plaintive eyebrows.

His mother’s amusement left. “Tony, wherever he ends up, I’m sure he’ll be happy there. And, speaking from experience as a drop out, college isn’t so momentous as people make it out to be. You don’t need to worry so much about whatever decision he decides to make. It’ll all turn out fine in the end.”

Tony frowned. “A regular old school is fine for most people. _Not going_ is fine for most people. But this is _Ezra_. He’s practically the only person ever who likes the school part of school more than the other parts. He deserves the very best school he can get into, but he’ll probably just try to choose whatever he thinks will make everybody else happy. He needs my Powerpoint!”

They were nearing the front of the line now. They would be in the next group to board. Maddy put a hand on his shoulder, “We’re an hour from home. Even if we ran out right now, we wouldn’t get back until the conversation’s over. But nothing will be final, whatever you want to share with them, you can tell them when we get back or tomorrow. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what the perfect school for Ezra is now?”

“That would ruin the presentation.”

“Of course it would,” Maddy said. There wasn’t much time for her to ask about it further. It was time for them to strap in and go for a wild ride.

* * *

There was a couch in the pastor’s office of Westwich Methodist Church. It had been there for well over a decade, donated by some long gone parishioner before Elijah Clark had even been hired. In its time, it had supported hundreds of distressed individuals who sank into its refurbished cushions as they sought private council on their lives.

Today Aziraphale and the Clarks had squeezed into it, while Maddy perched precariously on one of its arms. Aziraphale wondered if the anxiety he felt were his own or if, somehow, the couch had absorbed the worries of everyone who’d ever sat there before. After all, it was silly for him to feel any distress over this.

Still, his fingers nervously played over one another when he spoke, “So, Anthony wants to talk to all of us about my higher education prospects?”

“Yeah.” Maddy laughed easily. “I don’t know the details. I only know that he made a computer presentation and this is the only place he could show it to us. He’s taking it very seriously.”

Just how seriously became evident a moment later when the office door swung open. Anthony entered in the same little suit he’d worn to the Ritz, hair wet back and freshly combed. He was holding a small plate of store bought cookies which he placed on a side table for their refreshment.

“Thank you all for making the time to gather here this evening. I have an important matter to discuss.”

Aziraphale stole a sidelong glance at the adults. They were all attempting to look thoughtful, but bewildered amusement simmered dangerously close to the surface. For his part, Aziraphale didn’t have to worry about hurting Anthony’s feelings. His anxiety was too high for him to appreciate the humor of the situation.

Anthony continued. “So, I know you guys already talked about college and stuff yesterday but I… I wanted to make a suggestion. It’s okay if you don’t want to do it, angel, but if you could just listen all the way through, I really think it’s a good idea and I’m sure all the grown-ups will to.”

Aziraphale relaxed, feeling his own smile become less tight. The boy had always been good at reading him and clearly didn’t want to cause any distress. But, when he turned to the computer and began his presentation, the knot in Aziraphale’s throat immediately returned. The title slide read, “Why I think Ezra Should go to School in England.”

He couldn’t quite believe it, “All the way in-”

“Just wait until I finish. Then you can say no. But listen first, angel. Please?”

Feeling slightly sick, Aziraphale forced himself to nod and sink back into the ancient couch.

“Right so, reason number one.” Anthony clicked something on the keyboard and a new image slid into view. It was a smiley face, one in sunglasses. Above its bright yellow face was the word happiness. “So, I like to think that Ezra and I know each other pretty well. And when we were in England, I think it’s fair to say that he was about as comfortable as I’ve ever seen him. The only times he wasn’t, it was because of how much he’d missed it there and how hard it was knowing we’d have to leave soon. So my first reason is that Ezra should go to school in England because being there makes him happy.”

That wasn’t untrue. He did miss London. It was more home to him than heaven had ever been, more home than anywhere else he’d ever lived on earth. But Aziraphale had not realized how obvious he’d been about it. He didn’t want them to feel he’d rather be there than with them. He didn’t want Anthony to feel he’d rather leave.

The next slide contained a picture of a diploma. The boy continued, “England has a number of excellent universities to choose from, which would provide Ezra with the academic…”

Here Anthony paused, screwing up his face as though he were trying very hard to remember something. When he found the word he lit up and barreled onward, “Rigor! I mean, they would provide Ezra with academic rigor that he hasn’t really had yet in his schooling. Also, a degree from one of these schools would provide him with great job opportunities.”

By this time, the adults had stopped feigning curiosity, and were watching with genuine interest. The next slide arrived featuring a pile of money. “My final reason has to do with cost. Even though, since he’s lived here for the past five years, Ezra wouldn’t qualify for the really good prices, most of England’s top schools would _still_ cost less per year than the comparative schools in the U.S.”

There was another slide, one featuring a table of prices. Anthony must have lost himself in research to create this. There were costs for classes, housing, application fees, all for various schools on both sides of the Atlantic. It was a bit difficult to read, on such a small screen part way across the room, but they all leaned forward just the same. Anthony gave them a moment to look over the information before continuing, “And that’s before you take into account that a British undergraduate degree takes three years instead of four, so that’s a crazy amount of savings right there!”

The boy cleared his throat and lowered his energy, dialing down from car salesman. “Also, in terms of money and stuff. It would probably be easier for Ezra if he was in England when he turned eighteen since that’s when he’ll get all his inheritance. I don’t really know how that works, but I’d guess dealing with just one country for all that would make things easier. And then that money could help pay for school too!”

This was the least true of anything Anthony had said, but Aziraphale couldn’t very well explain that he actually just needed to get the Antichrist to end a few miracles. Still, he had no arguments against any of the rest of it and that thought made him uncomfortable. His mind was racing and everything felt a little distant.

Elijah whistled, “Wow Tony, you really did a lot of research. To be honest hadn’t really thought about Ezra studying abroad, but you’ve made excellent points. I feel silly for not considering it.”

“I agree. If Ezra wants to go to school in England, we’d both support that decision,” Edith put a hand on her Aziraphale’s shoulder and squeezed.

Aziraphale, however, was still trying to gather his own thoughts together. His eyes darted back and forth across the carpet as though he might find an answer there. They were waiting for him to say something. “Well I… I suppose I don’t need to make any final decisions until winter, do I?”

Anthony nodded with too much enthusiasm. “Of course not!”

Aziraphale tried to smile at him and failed, which caused the boy to ramble, “And you’re already doing everything they want. Like you’ll need to take AP classes and stuff, but you took a couple last year, right? And you’re already signed up for lots this year!”

That was true, although he’d chosen them because he liked the greater difficulty, not because he’d been worrying about his resume. Aziraphale must have still looked frantic, because Elijah stood up and said gently, “Winter won’t be for a while yet, so there’s no reason to feel pressured. Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow.”

Aziraphale nodded distantly and the adults began to file out of the room. That was good. He needed space. There was too much to think about, too many decisions to make, and one thought kept over powering all others.

Before Anthony could leave as well, Aziraphale finally gave it voice, “Do you… Do you want me to leave?”

And that was it, what had been bothering him from Anthony’s first slide. What had he done that Anthony was so ready to see him go across the ocean? Why was this boy, who a few years prior had wept over the thought of Aziraphale going to camp for two weeks, willing to wave goodbye to him for months at a time? Why didn’t Anthony want him anymore?

It was a lot of thinking to cram into the millisecond between his question and Anthony’s answer, for it took no time at all for him to spin on his heel, wrinkle his nose, and say, “Don’t be stupid. Of course I don’t want you to leave!”

“Then why are you trying to send me across the Atlantic? We won’t hardly get to see one another.”

Anthony came to him, sinking into the cushion by Aziraphale’s side, and leaning against him in an armless sort of hug. “I didn’t say all that because I want you to leave. I said it ‘cause I want you to be happy. Being in London made you really happy. More than that, you were comfortable, in a way I’ve never seen you comfortable before. I want you to have that all the time.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Anthony, but it’s not worth leaving you behind,” Aziraphale said, still carefully studying the carpet.

Anthony sat up abruptly and looked at him, “Angel, you weren’t going to stay at home, were you?”

“That was my plan.”

Anthony scoffed. “If I were old enough to live on my own, I totally would. Especially with your parents.”

Caught off guard, Aziraphale made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, they’re nice and everything and they’ve done a bunch for me and my mom, but they’re uptight and strict about a lot of stuff. I mean, you’re gonna be nearly eighteen by the time college starts. You shouldn’t have to hide half your books under your bed or ask your mom if you can see certain movies. If you move out you won’t have to listen to anybody. You could be totally free.”

Totally free. The words hit Aziraphale with strength far beyond what Anthony had intended. In six thousand years, that had never been true. Perhaps, perhaps for those six months between the end of the world and his loss of Crowley, but that hadn’t been long enough for him to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the first time he realized that being human meant his own decisions , his own life. Even with his memories he could have something like Free Will. All he had to do was let himself grow up. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t really be beholden to _anybody_ , would I?”

Anthony nodded encouragingly, but Aziraphale shook his head, righting his thoughts “Well, I could be free just as well in New York as I could in London. Then I’d only be a train ride away.”

“Once school starts, you’re really gonna take an hour and a half train ride just to check in?” Aziraphale readied himself to answer in the affirmative but Anthony kept speaking, “You shouldn’t. Once you’re at school you’ll be busy, I bet. It won’t make much different if you’re a state or an ocean away. I’d rather think of you being someplace you really like, and anyway, it’s not like you’ll be gone forever or something. You’ll be back every winter and summer. And we can talk on the phone and stuff.”

Aziraphale looked at Anthony’s face, hopeful, a little sad, and just a bit more angular than it had been a year ago. He’d wondered, earlier, what had changed between Anthony crying over a two weeks separation and now. The answer was simple. It wasn’t anything Aziraphale had done, it was the boy himself. He was growing up.

This was confirmed when Anthony, reading Aziraphale’s nerves like a book, added softly, “It couldn’t hurt to just apply.”

“I suppose it couldn’t.” Aziraphale agreed. After all, if Anthony was going to grow up, Aziraphale would have to too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do research about the international student admissions process to UCL using their 2003 website as found on the Wayback Machine? Yes. Yes, I did. 
> 
> The United States' Advanced Placement exams are accepted in lieu of the UK's A-Levels.
> 
> Also, someone please save me from these rabbit holes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? It's another small time skip!  
> (The pace of time will slow significantly in the next chunk of chapters after this).

January 2004

In the eleven years after the arrival of the antichrist, time had been precious to Aziraphale. It was the first time that had really been true. This was not to say that he hadn’t noticed its passing before then; it had always aged and changed the things around him, separating him from places and people as it marched ever onward. But he’d been used to that, used to watching the world go by, leaving only he and Crowley untouched. The arrival of the antichrist and the ticking time bomb he created had made everything seem more important. The prospect of an end- to him, to Crowley, and to all the wonderful, changeable things on earth- had made every moment matter. Those eleven years had passed too quickly.

Now, for the second time in his six thousand years, the days, the hours, the minutes, seemed to slip by like water through his fingers. This odd life he’d grown accustomed to had seemed eternal when he was caught in it. Changing yes, but endless too. Now that the end was in sight, he felt like someone had set the clock too fast.

The school year had begun with the usual unearned fanfare. He’d gone off to the pomp of senior year while Anthony soldiered on into seventh grade. Then, somewhere between college applications, _Midsummer_ rehearsals, and the day to day process of living, Aziraphale had lost months. He could remember everything he’d done, the dinners with the Clarks, the sleepovers at the Jays, every wonderful moment spent by Anthony’s side, but he couldn’t quite believe it was mid-January already.

He couldn’t quite believe he was holding a letter from University College of London.

Aziraphale had been prompt with all his applications, but had not expected an answer so soon. After all, American universities didn’t make most of their decisions until spring. It seemed ridiculous that something from so much farther away had found its way to the Clarks’ doorstep so quickly.

“Ezra, it’s freezing outside! Please come in and shut the door.”

Startled, Aziraphale hurried back into the house, the day’s mail clutched tight against his chest. It was a Wednesday afternoon, the second week after Christmas break, just long enough for everyone to have fallen back into their usual patterns. Edith was curled up on the couch planning music lessons for her elementary schoolers, Elijah had just gotten off the phone with a couple who were planning a February wedding in the church, and Anthony had come over to do his schoolwork until his mother came home from the garden center. None of them paid any special attention as Aziraphale floated in on some distant cloud and dumped most of the mail onto the coffee table.

It was Anthony, because of course it was, who took a second glance and noticed that Aziraphale was still clutching a letter as though it were a bomb that might go off any moment.

“What’s the matter, angel?”

“Oh, I, er.” He had not yet remembered how to formulate a complete thought before all eyes turned in his direction.

“Did you get a letter?” Edith asked.

With a heavy swallow, Aziraphale answered. “I haven’t opened it yet, but it appears to be from… University College of London.”

There was total silence. They were all afraid of scaring him off. So Aziraphale took time to collect himself. He settled into the family armchair, smoothed the fabric of his pants, and took the envelope gingerly in his hands.

He wasn’t sure what response he was hoping for. Although he’d had the option of applying for up to five English universities, this was the only one he’d chosen. Despite parental encouragement to add Cambridge and Oxford to the list, he’d decided it was London or nothing. If he were going across the sea, he would go all the way home or not at all.

That and fewer options might mean less chance of getting in, then he could stay by Anthony’s side without making the choice himself.

He started to tear the envelope and paused, “It might not be an acceptance or refusal at all. I mean, I never had an interview, did I? Perhaps it’s just about that.”

“They don’t always make international students do interviews,” Anthony told him, still stubbornly full of research he’d done sixth months prior. “Are you gonna open it or not?”

“Like a band-aid, buddy,” Elijah said. “Do it fast.”

Nodding, Aziraphale did as directed and found a letter along with other information about the school. He could think of only one reason they would send additional information, but he seized the letter anyway, reading it with practiced speed before letting it fall into his lap.

Voice shaky, he raised his head, “It’s an offer.”

“You’ve gotten in?” Elijah asked, and they all held back their excitement as they awaited his clarification.

“Pending the final scores on my AP tests, but yes.”

They exploded. Elijah whooped, Edith squeezed him about the shoulders, and Anthony decided this was an appropriate time to climb the coffee table and toss the rest of the day’s mail into the air like confetti. No one was paying enough attention to scold him.

“Honey, we’re so proud of you. So, so, so proud.” Edith kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, I’ll have to make something special for tonight! We should celebrate.”

She moved back, allowing Elijah to swoop in. Aziraphale found himself hauled into a hug and then held by the shoulders, as though the pastor wanted to get a proper look at him, “I’m not surprised, buddy. I’ve known you were smarter than the rest of us since the day we brought you home, but still, we’re all kinds of proud of you.”

“I… I haven’t decided yet if I’ll accept,” Aziraphale admitted, finally finding the right words.

“I know. I know. But you got in and that alone is worth celebrating.”

By this time Edith was already banging around in the kitchen, abruptly changing dinner plans. “Elijah, could you run to the store for cake mix, frosting, and eggs?”

“Cake mix, frosting, eggs- got it!” Elijah hurried to the door, pausing only to give Aziraphale a grin and one last, “We’re so proud of you!”

Aziraphale collapsed back into the armchair as the foyer door fell shut. The last two minutes had been exhausting enough for a whole day and he would have happily remained quiet and stationary until it was time for bed. However, a pair of feet, a bit too big for the body they belonged too, came into view and Aziraphale was forced to look up.

Anthony was watching him, eyes still bright with now fading excitement. He was breathing heavily from his table top celebration and concern was starting to creep onto his features. “You’re not _really_ gonna turn them down are you? It’s perfect.”

“Well, I’d like to hear from the other schools I applied to. I have other options.”

“Not half as good.”

“I applied to Yale! That’s fairly equivalent.”

Anthony, graduate of _Roger Sherman Elementary School,_ rolled his eyes. “UCL is in _London_. Yale’s in New Haven. And the only interesting thing about New Haven is Yale. Doesn’t seem equal to me.”

“Well, when most people choose a school, they choose the school rather than the location,” Aziraphale responded. He said it with a great deal of confidence, considering he was relatively sure it wasn’t true.

Anthony cocked an eyebrow and gave him a look of unimpressed disbelief that was Crowley straight down to the core. “So you wouldn’t choose Yale just because it’s an hour by train?”

Despite his best attempt to look haughty, Aziraphale found himself flushing.

The boy sighed dramatically, “Look, angel, choose whatever you want, just don’t choose what you think is right for everybody else.”

“I wouldn’t!” And there was that Crowley expression again. “Fine, perhaps I might.”

The cheeky imp grinned triumphantly and Aziraphale felt his heart ache. How could he say goodbye to him? How could he go months without seeing that delightful, little face? After fretting for months, he still couldn’t decide if his own desire to stay was a selfish one or not.

“If I do accept, Anthony, would you promise to spend as much time with me as possible until I go?”

“Of course! Anything you want, angel!”

That would be the plan then. He’d accept. He’d run a proper observation and if he felt the child still needed him by the time spring came around, he could always fail his AP exams on purpose.

If it also meant a bit more time with Anthony, well that was just an enjoyable side-affect.

* * *

Aziraphale could not remember his first day at Westwich High without cringing internally. The best thing he could say about the experience was that a great deal had changed since then. At the dawn of his final semester in the school, he no longer felt small and lost within the hallways. Not only did he know the building well now but, having finally attained the height he knew as his own, he could see his way over the crowds. That and his classmates were less engaged in constant social jockeying. They’d all found their places, or hadn’t, over the years. Either way it was difficult to care too much about one’s current social standing when change was imminent. It made even the worst among them easier to deal with.

Also much improved was his comfort around his favorite teacher. The infatuation he’d once had for Mr. Velazquez was merely an unpleasant memory now, which meant it ought to be quite easy to speak with him.

Despite all this, Aziraphale was a bundle of nerves and practiced conversations, as he pushed his way through the dissipating last-bell crowds toward the school auditorium. He found Mr. Velazquez waiting by the Drama Club’s bulletin board as a group of excited students chose times slots for next week’s auditions.

He lit up when he noticed Aziraphale approaching. “Hey! Your guidance counselor told me congratulations are in order. You must be thrilled about getting into your top school!”

The noise Aziraphale made was supposed to sound like agreement but fell somewhere closer to discomfort. “That’s actually partly why I came to talk to you.”

The teacher’s shoulders fell. “Was it supposed to be a surprise? I teach acting, I can still act surprised if you want me to.”

“No,” Aziraphale laughed before remembering he was dreading this.

The other students waved goodbye and hurried off down the hallway, leaving a clear view of the sign-up sheet. Mr. Velazquez, who’d clearly been waiting for this moment, gave the names a look over and sighed. “To be honest, Ezra, I was hoping you’d come to sign up. I know this isn’t a dance show and you’re happy being the stage manager, but I can use as many boys in this cast I can get. I’m sure I can fill the main roles, but the little parts I’m less clear on. That and the kids’ roles. I think I might regret choosing _Les Mis_.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t. It’s such a wonderfully dramatic story, and that’s to say nothing of the music. I’m sure it will be a fantastic experience for everyone involved.”

“But I can’t persuade you to audition?” Although he was mostly teasing, there was a clear tinge of hope in Mr. Velasquez’s voice.

Aziraphale was about to annihilate it. “Actually, I, er… I’ve come to tell you that I… That I’m grateful for every opportunity you’ve given me but I won’t be involved at all in the production. I really am sorry.”

Wincing preemptively, Aziraphale raised his eyes to meet his teacher’s disappointment. To his surprise, Mr. Velazquez looked more worried than anything. “Is there something wrong, Ez?”

“Wrong? Why would you think something is wrong?”

A bewildered smile came across the teacher’s face. “Well, you’ve stage managed every show since your freshman year, you seemed excited last week when I announced we’d be doing _Les Miserables_ , and you look like you want to sink into the floor. I figured something was up.”

Aziraphale pulled at the hem of his jumper. “I’m only nervous because I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Ezra, I’ll miss having your assistance but if you can’t do the show you don’t need to feel bad about it. If you don’t mind telling me, I’d like to know what caused the change though.”

“Well, it’s like you heard from my guidance counselor, I’ve been accepted into a university.”

“Are you leaving before the end of school?” Mr. Velasquez asked.

Aziraphale wished he hadn’t. He wished he didn’t have to say anymore because he knew on some level that his actual reason was ridiculous. He began to play with his sleeve cuffs. “No. It’s only that, I’ll be going all the way home to London for my schooling. I’ll be leaving a great deal behind and I’d like to spend the time I have left here with the people who matter to me most. I don’t want to spend all my evenings at school.”

Mr. Velazquez’s expression was soft and understanding. “You’re worried about leaving your neighbor kid behind, huh?”

For a moment, Aziraphale was utterly shocked. His expression wild-eyed enough that his teacher laughed. After giving it a thought, however, it all made sense. He’d only ever considered dropping out of shows in moments when Anthony was in trouble. It was no surprise that Mr. Velazquez had been able to pin the issue so closely.

“I’m a little worried,” he admitted. “But mostly I just want to spend time with him while I can.”

“I wouldn’t want to pressure you to change your mind,” Mr. Velazquez said. Then it was his turn to make an absurd expression. His eyes lit up and Aziraphale could practically see the animated lightbulb floating above his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Neighbor kid can sing, can’t he? I remember you talking about him sneaking out to do karaoke in the dead of night.”

“Right…”

“So, I called the middle school chorus teacher last week asking if she had any students who might want to audition for the kids’ roles in the show. There’s a handful who’ve signed up already but I could take one more. Do you think he’d be interested?”

Would Anthony be interested in running around dressed like a street urchin, spending time with high schoolers, and getting to sing in front of a live audience? Aziraphale hardly even had to ask. His whole face lit up before something occurred to him, “You wouldn’t just choose him for that reason, would you?”

Mr. Velazquez shook his head. “No. He’d audition like everybody else. And if I didn’t choose him I wouldn’t force you to stay on. However, based just on what you’ve told me about him, karaoke money and talent contests, I think he’s got a pretty good shot. I wonder why the chorus teacher didn’t suggest him…”

Aziraphale was smiling now and couldn’t stop himself. “That’s simple. Anthony does orchestra rather than chorus. He’s quite the little virtuoso. Oh, I’m sure you’ll just love him. If he wants to do it. I’ll have to ask him, but I know the answer. Thank you, Mr. Velazquez. Thank you so much!”

And, not knowing quite how else to show his thanks, Aziraphale added his name to the audition sheet.

* * *

Tony had been going to therapy with Dr. Amanda’s since he’d first gone to live with the Clarks, back when his mother was in recovery. Although he’d only gone once a month for the last few years, it still felt odd sitting across from her on what he knew would be his last visit.

Still, one look around the room, and it was clear he’d aged out of the practice. Her office was filled with toys and games for little children. The bookshelves held only picture books, half the chairs were sized for toddlers. Tony’s growth spurts might have faltered for the moment, but he was still going to be thirteen next month. He didn’t belong here anymore.

“So, Ezra got into his top school. How are you feeling about that?” Last visit or not, Dr. Amanda was undeterred in her work. 

Tony, lounging in one soft chair in a way he hoped would evoke adolescent disinterest, shrugged. She raised her eyebrows slightly and he answered. “I’m happy for him… mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, I mean I’m the one who got him to do it in the first place. And he’ll be super happy there. I know I’m right, otherwise I wouldn’t’ve pushed him to do it.”

Dr. Amanda’s smile was knowing, “What about the part of you that doesn’t fall under ‘mostly’?”

“Well, duh, I’m still gonna miss him,” Tony said, his lounge becoming more of a curl.

“Have you talked to Ezra about that?”

“No way!” Tony sat up straight. “Ezra’s really worried about leaving. Like, was thinking about just going to whatever school was closest so he could stay at home, worried. And I know he’s mostly doing it because of me. If I start moping around about it, he’d probably stay!”

The doctor would normally be writing something down in her notebook at this point, but as this was his final visit, her pen remained still. “And you wouldn’t want that to happen?”

Tony shook his head. “He belongs there. And anyway, he was practically born an adult. He can’t be staying with his parents forever. He’d go crazy!”

“Well, it seems like you’re handling this in a pretty adult way yourself. Just don’t keep your feelings bottled up. If you don’t feel like you can talk to Ezra about it, is there anyone else you can talk to?”

“Mom and I talk.”

“That’s good. And, remember, your mom can always contact my office for the names of some great adolescent therapists if you want someone else to talk to.”

Tony had heard this before, from his mother, from the doctor, from the doctor talking to his mother. He looked at her flatly. She laughed, “I’ll take that as you remember very clearly.”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “You don’t gotta worry so much. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’ll be ready when he leaves, it’s just…”

“Just?”

“Just, I wish he wasn’t doing his school show. I won’t hardly get to see him ‘til like May. Except on weekends and in the afternoons… but not in the evenings. He’ll eat dinner early and then disappear.” Before she could ask further questions, he folded his arms and added, “But I’m not gonna tell him not to do it, ‘cause it makes him really happy.”

She let him guide the conversation elsewhere after that. They talked about his mother, about school, about violin, piano and guitar. They talked until his time was over and he stood up from the ‘Cozy Corner’ for the last time. She offered her hand and he took it.

“It’s been wonderful getting to know you, Tony.”

He hesitated and then launched himself forward to give her the quickest of hugs. “Thanks. For everything.”

She walked him out of the room, down the short hallway to the lobby. He’d expected Elijah to be there to pick him up, after all the Pastor was the one who’d brought him, but instead he found Ezra waiting. The older boy was beaming, clearly excited about something or other. He swept over and shook Dr. Amanda’s hand.

“How are you doing doctor? I trust all is well.”

She met his smile with one of her own. “Of course. It’s always nice to see one of my old clients grown up and happy. I like visits. Is everything going well with you?”

“Yes. Brilliantly. Well, I suppose I’ll see. I have something to ask Anthony, actually.”

They both looked toward Tony. “What’s up, angel?”

“Well, I went to speak with Mr. Velasquez today. You know he’s my-”

“I know who he is. You talk about him all the time.” Tony bristled with impatience.

“Right, well… One of the characters in the show is a young boy and he’s opened auditions to middle schoolers. He was wondering and, I was wondering, if you’d be interested in trying out for the role?”

“In your high school show?” Aziraphale nodded, biting his lip in worried anticipation. Tony burst into a grin, “Of course I wanna try out! I could go to your rehearsals and everything with you. That’d be so boss!”

Buoyed by joy and excitement, he and Ezra began to walk from the therapist’s office without giving her another thought. Nearly out the door, Tony remembered and cast a glance over his shoulder. She was just watching, a soft smile on her face. She didn’t seem to mind that he’d forgotten to say goodbye.

She was simply glad to watch them walk away happy.

* * *

Anthony had been holding a slice of pizza three inches from his mouth for a solid minute, without remembering to eat it. He was too busy staring at Aziraphale with deep fascination. He was not the only one. The Clarks and Maddy were also watching him, although they were more capable of continuing the meal.

For his part, Aziraphale swallowed his bite, dabbed his lips, and then continued with his story. “So, after the bishop pardons Valjean and gifts him the silver candlesticks that he’d stolen, there is a number in which Valjean reconsiders his life and decides to start anew under a fresh identity. At this point the musical skips forward eight years to the year 1823. By this time, Valjean has become the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer and is also the owner of a factory. Working at this factory is a young woman named Fantine, who we meet during a song all about the struggles of the down trodden. Now poor Fantine was abandoned by a man she believed loved her after becoming pregnant with his child. She is working, not only to support herself, but to send money to a couple who is raising her child in what she believes to be a better life. Unfortunately for Fantine, she receives a letter from this couple, demanding that she pay even more money, and this letter is discovered and read aloud by a jealous fellow worker. At this point-”

“Wait, how far into the musical are we? Have we passed intermission yet?” Elijah asked.

Aziraphale was grateful for the momentary break and used it to finally take another bite of his meal. He shook his head as he washed it down. “Not hardly. There’s another time skip before then and a great deal more characters to introduce.”

“Like the one I’m trying out for?” Anthony finally remembered himself and had some of his dinner.

“Right. At this point Gavroche would be just a wee thing, if he were even born at all. We won’t meet him until the story moves to Paris.”

“Is that when the French Revolution starts?” Aziraphale was glad Edith was engaged. If she weren’t he could only imagine her reaction to the next plot point wherein Fantine was unjustly fired and turned to prostitution.

“That’s actually a common misconception. The battle fought in the latter part of the story is the June Rebellion of 1832 and is unrelated to the French Revolution which occurred at the tail end of the 1700s. You see France had many tumultuous-”

“Ez,” Maddy interrupted, smile a bit sheepish, “I love that you know this stuff, but I’m going to lose the plot if we go off into a history lesson. I want to hear what happened to the lady.”

“Right just so. Where were we…” And he went on for the rest of dinner and straight through dessert, regaling them all with the entire plot of _Les Miserables_. They were rapt, interrupting only to ask for clarifications and extra information. Aziraphale often worried that he was boring people when he went off about his books and so it was a treat to have everyone so enthralled to the very last word. At least the adults were. He thought he might have lost Anthony after describing the death of Gavroche. The boy had gone starry eyed imagine himself bringing the audience to tears.

Elijah leaned back in his chair, plate still balanced precariously on one knee, “And you two are auditioning next week?”

“Yes, our time slot is on Tuesday after school.” Aziraphale paused, readied himself, and then made a request, “If you don’t need to visit any parishioners that day, I was wondering if I could take your car that morning. That way I could pick Anthony up when the middle school lets out and bring him straight to the auditions.”

The Clarks were a two car family. Edith took the trusty minivan to work each morning, but Elijah didn’t often use his. He liked to have it, of course, in case of emergencies, but Aziraphale longed to take it to school. To his surprise he found he rather liked driving. It wasn’t the act itself he enjoyed, but the sense of independence. Being dropped off and picked up left him at the mercy of others. Having the car to himself meant he could technically go anywhere he pleased whenever he chose to do so. The fact that he only ever went from home to school at the expected times was irrelevant.

Elijah sighed through his smile, “You can take the car on Tuesday.”

Before Aziraphale could even thank him, Anthony decided to take one concession and see if he could win another. “Could we sleep over in the church sanctuary?”

“And why would you do that?”

“We gotta practice and the sanctuary’s got really good acoustics! And it’s not like no one’s ever slept in there; the Youth Group has lock-ins sometimes. Plus we wouldn’t be totally alone really, because our apartment is _right there_. Mom could come and check on us or we could get her if there was a problem. Besides, Ezra’s practically a grown up and he never, ever gets in trouble for anything. Please!”

Elijah glanced at both the women, who shrugged. He sighed again, “Since you had so many excellent persuasive reasons, yes. You two can take your sleeping bags and spend the night in the sanctuary.”

Although this was not the evening that Aziraphale had planned for, he found himself, not half an hour later, in the mostly empty sanctuary laid out on the floor of the church dais. They’d brought a number of snacks-chips, cookies, and carbonated beverages- none of which seemed optimal for practicing vocals. They were both in their pajamas already, Aziraphale properly slippered and enrobed. Anthony, however, was barefoot in nothing but a pair of sweat pants and a band t-shirt.

Aziraphale tutted.

“It is the dead of winter and you have chosen to spend the night in a cold and cavernous room. You’re going to freeze dressed liked that.”

Anthony looked down at his own shirt as though he’d forgotten what he’d chosen to wear. “I’ll be fine, angel.”

“I won’t have you getting sick and missing your chance to audition.” Despite the boy’s spluttering protestations, Aziraphale draped one of the blankets Edith had told him to bring around Anthony’s shoulders. “There. Now you look positively toasty.”

“Angel! Knock it off. I’m not five!” The blanket slumped unceremoniously to the floor, as Tony wrinkled an indignant nose in Aziraphale’s direction. “Anyway, we’ve got work to do.”

Anthony dug into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and a handful of mismatched pens. He stretched out onto his stomach, the better to write, and scratched at the top of the page: Song Ideas. “Alright, so we gotta choose what we’re going to sing, right?”

“Yes. Mr. Velasquez generally doesn’t have students sing a song from the show unless they make it for call backs. The trick is to choose something similar in tone and voice to the part you’re hoping to get.”

“So I oughta choose something written for a kid then, huh?”

“I’d think so.”

Aziraphale did not often see Anthony look so focused. It was an expression he saved for the work that really mattered to him which, as far as Aziraphale was aware, applied to practicing his various instruments and that one science project he’d had last year where he got to research snake habitats. It was an extraordinarily charming expression, the brow just slightly wrinkled, the very tip of his tongue poking out, unbidden, between his lips.

He’d plotted together with Crowley before, but could not recall him ever making such a face. Perhaps there had been too much pressure during the apocalypse, and he’d never seen Crowley planning any of his favorite wiles. He’d only ever got to hear about those after they’d been successful. Aziraphale would have had to thwart them otherwise.

Perhaps, then, Crowley had made that face in demonic form, although if he forgot to focus on it, the tongue would be forked.

Anthony sat up, looking pleased with himself. “Okay, so I got a couple ideas for me. ‘Gary, Indiana’ from _The Music Man_ , ‘I Gotta Crow’ from _Peter Pan_ , ‘I Just Can’t Wait to be King’ from _The Lion King,_ and ‘Consider Yourself’, ‘Where is Love?’, or ‘I’d do Anything’ from _Oliver!_ ”

He sheathed his pen triumphantly and looked toward Aziraphale for approval.

“The only other that occurs to me off the top of my head is ‘My Best Girl’ but I don’t believe you’ve ever seen _Mame_.” Anthony shook his head. “Then that one would be a poor choice anyway.”

“Which one do you think I should do?”

“One of the _Oliver!_ songs would be the best fit, I would think. Gavroche is every bit the street wise urchin that the Artful Dodger is, although you need a bit more emotional range. I’d do ‘Consider Yourself’, if it were me.”

“Alright, cool. Now we gotta choose a song for you.”

Pen in hand, uncapped once more, Anthony prepared to dive back into his list before Aziraphale stopped him. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m still stage managing, so I couldn’t be up for major role even if I had the talent. I’ll just sing what I’ve done the past few years.”

“What’s that?” 

“I bit of ‘There But for You Go I’ from _Brigadoon_. We only do part of the song, so I just avoid the finish when the note jumps up.” Aziraphale laughed at himself. For all that was said about the voices of angels, his was remarkably average.

“Aw, I like your voice, Ezra.” Aziraphale didn’t doubt that he did, although he imagined it had more to do with personal fondness than actual appreciation for his musical talents.

“Be that as it may, I’ll be involved in the show no matter what, you’re the one we need to prepare. Do you know the song well enough to sing it? I don’t think we have any sheet music”

Anthony unearthed his precious iPod from a special pocket in his backpack. “I got it on here. I’ll just listen close and I should be able to figure it out.”

“Good. You listen to it and I’ll make you some tea with honey, so you won’t strain your muscles singing in this ice cave.” Aziraphale stood up, tightened his robe around himself and headed for the door.

A single “It’s not _that_ cold” followed him out of the room.

The church at night was always slightly eerie, at least when hardly anyone was around. He’d thought so since he’d first come to live with the Clarks. Just now, however, that vague sense of unease was overwhelmed by de ja vu.

Aziraphale had done this before, walked from sanctuary to dark kitchen on a cold winter night. He could still picture them now, Maddy and Anthony, frightened and hungry, desperate for the safety of the fellowship hall.

That had been seven years ago, which didn’t quite seem possible.

He became so lost in thought, standing in the doorway of the hall, that he nearly forgot why he’d come. Kicking himself mentally, Aziraphale hurried to the kitchen and made the decaffeinated tea he found there. It was extraordinarily cheap (Lipton) and so he did not bother to make a cup for himself. Anthony did not like tea, despite his best efforts to experience London properly. It didn’t matter what kind Aziraphale brought him, so long as it warmed the boy’s vocal chords.

Walking back through the darkened hall, the precious heat of the mug clutched in his hands, Aziraphale let his mind wander again. Seven years. Had it really already been seven years?

And then he walked into the sanctuary and realized that, of course it had.

The Anthony he’d met that December evening had been small, skittish, silent. The boy before him now was none of those things. He sat at the piano, humming joyfully as he successfully plucked out the accompaniment on the keys. He did not notice Aziraphale standing there, tea in hand, did not wait for the drink before starting to sing.

“ _Consider yourself at home._

_Consider yourself one of the family._

_We’ve taken to you so strong._

_It’s clear we’re going to get along_.”

He was so much stronger than he’d been, so vibrant, so much more independent.

But, in Aziraphale’s absence, he had pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders. So Aziraphale decided the jury was still out on whether Anthony needed him or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Les Mis rehearsals will form the backdrop of much of Part 4 going forward, but it is NOT required viewing to understand what's going on.
> 
> However, if you're interested and have a spare two and a half hours to kill... There is a full version of the tenth anniversary concert on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0c2sx47p31M 
> 
> And, of course, there's always the wikipedia synopsis.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's audition day in the fic and here is Tony's audition song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vkwUq8VHWJo
> 
> He definitely did the accent.

Tony fought the urge to cling to Ezra’s hand as they walked down the halls of Westwich High School. He’d been fine when they’d entered the building. It was after school hours and the hallways were nearly empty. That was, however, with the prominent exception of this one.

The hall behind the auditorium was filled with nervous teenagers waiting to be called up for their auditions. They were quiet, unnervingly so. Some of them paced, some of them sat on the floor with their backs against the walls, all of them seemed to be mouthing the words to songs they would soon have to sing aloud.

Although he didn’t cling, Tony stayed very close to Ezra’s side as they approached a small folding table that had been set up by the backstage door. He recognized the girl sitting there before Ezra even greeted her.

“Rachel, thank you so much for manning the lists while I went to pick Anthony up from school. Has everything run smoothly?”

“Yep,” she spoke in a whisper just as Ezra had, but it seemed less natural for her. “We’re running a bit behind, but I think that happens every year. I can keep working the table if you want to get yourself ready. I had my audition yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned about my own audition. I only signed up because Mr. Velasquez needed more male voices to round out the chorus. I have no delusions of grandeur.” He certainly didn’t sound nervous. Tony watched him sign them both in on a sheet.

“There are some nice little solo bits though. You might get one of those, even if you don’t get a big role. And Tony’s trying out for a big role, right?” She gave him an encouraging smile before turning back to Ezra, “You could help him get prepared.”

Then they were both looking at Tony, who shoved his hands into his pockets and gave his best disinterested shrug. He tried to sound as though he weren’t really nervous at all, “ ‘m fine.”

His carefully cultivated nonchalance was short lived. The stage door opened and a girl stumbled out. The moment the door fell shut behind her, she burst into tears. “I sucked. I just know I sucked. I’m never gonna get in!”

The blood drained from Tony’s face and took his confidence along with it. He leaned heavily against the folding table as Ezra swept over to the girl. “Now there, there, my poor girl. You just let it out. That’s perfectly alright. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

With a quick glance down at her list, Rachel called out to the assembled students, “Jennifer Powers? Is Jennifer Powers here?”

Another girl stood up, gave a single nod, and walked through the stage door to what Tony could only assume was her doom. He’d have clung to Ezra now, if only the older boy wasn’t busy acting as moral support for someone else. So, Tony distracted himself by settling down beside Rachel. “You got everybody’s names there?”

She blinked at him a few too many times to properly hide her surprise. Tony couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever spoken directly outside of his being forced to say ‘hello’. She gathered herself and held her clipboard up so he could get a better look, “Yep. I’ve got all the times for today’s auditions right here. See, there’s Ezra and then you a little bit down. Each audition takes about five minutes, so you won’t have to go on for nearly half an hour.”

He wished that he was next. Waiting for half an hour would only give him time to psych himself out. Rachel, not sure what to do now that he was actually talking to her, began to ramble. It wasn’t a terrible distraction. “This is the second day of auditions. We already had fifty kids try out yesterday. There’s definitely more than usual, probably because Mr. V asked us to talk it up to our friends. _Les Mis_ needs a really big cast. I’ve been surprised by some of the kids who’ve come out for it. Like the next girl who’s trying out. I’ve had classes with her and I did not picture her as a theater kid. Actually I-”

Jennifer Powers emerged from the stage, looking shaken but pleased. Rachel turned back to her list. “Violet Tanaka? Violet Tanaka are you here? You’re up next.”

Tony looked around at the gathered teenagers who, in turn, were all glancing around at each other. No one jumped up.

“Violet Tanaka?” Rachel asked again. “Violet Tanaka last call.”

“I’m here. I’m here! Give me a damn second.” From around the corner came the coolest girl that Tony had ever seen. She was dressed almost entirely in black, from her hair to the tips of her combat boots. Her skinny jeans were dramatically ripped and inexplicably worn beneath a skirt. Her oversized Ramones t-shirt had been cut off jaggedly at her waist, to better display the studded belt she wore there, and she’d paired it with some fishnet sleeves that went all the way down to her fingers.

She stopped in front of Rachel’s table, apparently unaware of the middle schooler staring in her direction, and signed by her name. “I’m up, right?”

“Yes,” said Rachel. “You can go right on in.”

But Violet Tanaka did not go right on in. Instead, she turned to the decidedly less cool girl who’d been trailing along behind her. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“But you used to love doing theater and you sing really great!” The other girl said in the increasingly desperate tone of someone who’d said all this before and was exhausted on the brink of victory.

With a throaty grumble, Violet pushed open the door to the stage and was gone. Tony watched the tension leave her friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Rach. I had to talk her back into it.”

“It’s fine. It’s just lucky we’ve been running behind.” Rachel fiddled with her pen and then looked up, “Why are you trying to get her to audition if she doesn’t really want to do it?”

“Oh, well, she was the first person I thought of when Mr. V told us to recruit people. We used to do theater camp together in middle school, so I know she liked it at one point. And did you ever hear her old band, The Ultra Violets, play? She’s got a pretty great voice.”

The more Tony learned about high school, the more he wished he could skip straight over eighth grade.

It felt like a long time before Violet Tanaka returned from her audition. The five minutes was punctuated only by the sound of the crying girl bursting into a fresh round of sobs on Ezra’s shoulder every minute or so. When Violet did, at last, return, she came out looking more comfortable than she had when she went in.

“How’d it go?” her friend asked.

“No sweat. It’s just singing, and if I don’t get in… whatever. It’s cool.” Violet shrugged. “You’re up next, Meg. You want me to wait around for you?”

“Please?” And then, without waiting for Rachel to call her, Meg went through toward the stage.

Violet proceeded to do the coolest thing any human could do- she leaned nonchalantly against the wall. Tony continued to stare at her until she raised an eyebrow, “Do you need something, kid?”

“I LIKE YOUR SHIRT,” said Tony. His volume would have been too much under normal circumstances, in the otherwise silent hallway he sounded even more like an idiot. He could feel himself turning as red as his hair. “I mean, uh, I like The Ramones too. They’re cool.”

“Thanks.” She was trying not to laugh. He could tell. If only he hadn’t worn a button up to school that day. He’d thought it might make a good impression for his audition and he’d known it would make his classmates ask what he was doing after school so he could brag about it. Now he wished he’d worn literally anything else.

When her friend returned, the two of them left. So Tony sat in silence, regretting his clothing choices through the next two auditions. He did not look up again until Rachel called out, “Ezra Fell, you’re next.”

Ezra, finally extricated himself from the dramatic girl who’d stopped crying and had instead been telling him all about her day. Tony knew him well enough to tell that he was clearly relieved as he made his way through the stage door- although he did frown slightly at the damp spot on his shirt as he went by.

Now the nerves returned in full. Tony was half convinced that his lunch would make an encore just as he sat there waiting. It was five minutes, only five minutes, probably fewer since Ezra wouldn’t need to bother with any formal introduction. That didn’t matter, the wait felt eternal.

When Ezra came back, Tony rose stiffly from his seat. The older boy bent down to give him a hug, “You’ll do just fine. I promise. There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Tony said, shrugging him off. “It’s just singing.”

And this was true, he wasn’t nervous, at least not for the half second it took him to walk through the stage door. Then it closed behind him, leaving him in the wings of a brightly lit stage without another soul around.

Squinting, Tony took a few cautious steps out beneath the hot lights. The darkened seating of the auditorium was invisible to him. He could not be certain how many eyes were watching.

“Tony! Hey, it’s nice to see you again,” a voice called out of the darkness. A moment later, the upper half of Mr. Velasquez appeared from the shadows as he leaned on the stage. “Are you doing alright? None of the other middle school kids signed up for traditional audition slots. They just sang in a regular old classroom. If this is too intimidating, we could come up there to listen to you.”

Ezra had been the one to sign him up. Ezra had trusted that he could do it. Tony shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Great. Do you have any music for our pianist or do you want to sing it acapella?” He paused, then added, “Acapella means-”

“I know what it means,” Tony frowned, forgetting for a moment that he was trying to make a good impression. “I don’t need accompaniment or, if I’m supposed to have it, I could play it myself.”

“You don’t need it, not if you’re comfortable without it. So, I’m about to sit back down and then I want you to introduce yourself. Tell us what song you’re going to sing and then sing it. Alright?”

Tony wrinkled his nose. “How come I’ve gotta introduce myself when you already know who I am? And whose ‘we’, anyway.”

“You’ve got to introduce yourself because that’s what you’d have to do at a real audition. It’s good practice. And we is…” Mr. Velasquez’s easy smile flickered. He looked like he’d remembered something unpleasant. “…Our music director and me. Do you have any other questions?”

Tony shook his head again and Mr. Velasquez melted back into the darkness. Straightening up, Tony cleared his throat and said, “Hi. I’m Tony Jay and I’m going to do ‘Consider Yourself’ from _Oliver!_.”

“Whenever you’re ready!” called the shadows. So Tony sang, he acted, he did a little accent, he tipped an invisible hat, and when he’d reached the end of his section he bowed, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Great. Thank you, Tony. Uh, before you go, I’m not going to be putting any of our potential Gavroche’s on the call back list. None of you go to the school, you’re not in charge or your own schedules, so I’ll be making the decision based on just this audition. Because of that, I’m going to ask you to do a couple more things first, alright?”

Tony had not been expecting this. He squared his shoulders and nodded.

“Awesome. I’m just going to have you make a couple expressions. You’ve shown me upbeat and charismatic already… can you show me angry?”

It felt stupid to just stand on stage making faces about nothing in particular and for a moment Tony wasn’t quite sure what to do. It wasn’t too hard, though, to think of a time he’d been furious and work himself up about it. Anytime someone had been mean to Ezra would have the right affect.

Mr. Velasquez called out more emotions. Tony had to be frightened (he thought of his father), sad (he thought about Ezra leaving), nervous (he thought about the fact that he was being judged right then), and loving (he thought about Ezra again, but this time without the leaving part). Then finally Mr. Velasquez said, “Just one more thing, Tony. I need you to die.”

Tony had watched a lot of the James Bond movies at Mikey’s house and he had to stop himself from looking around for traps. “Huh?”

“Can you pretend to die? Try your best not to make it silly.”

Tony had never died before. He’d had a dream a couple times where he was falling for a really long time and then everything was on fire, but he’d never died. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed at his heart and then collapsed onto the stage. He tried to keep his ‘bleah’ noise dignified.

“Wonderful. Thanks, Tony. We’re all done now. I’m going to be posting the final cast list on Friday. It’ll go up on the school’s website that afternoon, but I bet Ezra will tell you first. Do you have any questions?”

Tony sat up, covered in stage dust, and shook his head. “Okay then, just head back out the door and have a great day.”

Everything was buzzing as Tony staggered back out through the stage door. He hadn’t realized how wild his nerves were until there wasn’t anywhere to focus them anymore. He felt odd and distracted, and he walked straight into Ezra.

“Woah there, are you alright, Anthony? How did it go?”

Tony looked up at him and shook his head. “I don’t really know. I sang alright, but I don’t think I died very good.”

“Well, you’ve been very brave, no matter the outcome. Let’s get you home so you can have a bit of rest.” Ezra held out his hand and Tony, too off kilter to remember to be cool, took it.

* * *

Westwich High School let out precisely seventeen minutes before Westwich Middle School. Considering the distance of the church from each building and the fact that they were far enough from the middle school for Anthony to take the bus, Aziraphale had roughly 32 minutes to wait before Anthony would arrive at the door.

It was not enough time to have a cake ready and waiting, but it was enough time to prep one and get it started in the oven. When Anthony arrived the whole house would smell of vanilla and joy, which was just the way it ought to be. So he puttered and mixed and flitted about the kitchen, doing his best not to glance too often at the clock. Then he sat down on the couch with the mixing bowl to scrape what batter remained into his mouth and try not to let himself get nervous.

At 3:04 PM, a minute earlier than expected, Anthony burst through the front door, dropped his backpack in the foyer, and was standing in the living room before Aziraphale had managed to get to his feet. The boy was wild eyed, his winter coat lopsided, his hair disheveled. Aziraphale was certain he’d sprinted all the way from the bus stop. “Did the list go up? Did I get in? I can take it if I didn’t, but I gotta know! Did I get in, angel? Did I?”

Aziraphale, feeling as soft and warm as the cake rising in the oven, simply nodded.

“Really!?” Anthony asked. He smiled, stopped, and asked again, “Really?”

“Of course, you silly thing. You think I would tease you about something like this?”

“No, I-” He had more energy than he knew what do with. He moved from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his hands. “He didn’t make up a part for me, did he? I got Gavroche?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale said through his laughter. “There’s a celebration cake in the oven just waiting for you.”

Anthony hugged him tightly and grinned. “Is your dad home?”

“Mmm-hmm. He’s working upstairs on the computer.”

Anthony released him and ran to the stairs. He stood on the bottom step and shouted upward, “Hey, did you hear, I got the part!”

A moment later, Elijah’s voice called back, “I _did_ hear. Congratulations!”

“Thanks!” Anthony hopped down and hurried back toward Aziraphale, “Did you get in?”

“That was never in question.”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean. Did you get an actual part, or what?”

“Well, I… my most important job is back stage of course. I’ll mostly just be singing along with the chorus from wherever I am. After all, the show won’t run without me…”

“But?”

Aziraphale turned red. He’d been so happy with his news for Anthony, that he’d nearly managed to forget his own part. It wasn’t something to be embarrassed over, it was simply… well it was simply a bit too on the nose. “But, I will be playing the bishop, during his brief time on stage.”

Anthony had somehow found a way to look even more pleased with the situation, “That’s a real important part. Congratulations to you too!”

“It’s a small role; it’s nothing to make a fuss over.”

“It’s still important though. I’ll make a fuss if I want to,” Anthony huffed.

“What role are you guys talking about?” Elijah, it seemed, had decided to come down and join in the hubbub. Aziraphale wished he’d waited another minute or two.

“Ezra is going to be the bishop.”

“No kidding?” Elijah’s face lit up. “You spent the whole ride home telling me about Anthony’s part and you didn’t say a thing about yourself. Do you get a solo and everything?”

“Yes…” Aziraphale had never sung by himself in front of any sort of crowd. Even in heaven, back before the earth was made, all the ‘Holy, holy, holy’s were done as a group. He was beginning to doubt he could do it.

“Did you not want the part, buddy?”

“It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not one of the main character roles, but it’s not just a one off line either. I just hope Mr. Velasquez wasn’t, I don’t know, throwing me a bone for loyal service or something.” Aziraphale ended by staring down at his shoes.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t give you something he didn’t think you could handle,” Elijah told him. “And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen you fail at anything you’ve decided to do.”

Elijah had never seen him help raise the wrong antichrist or try to get crepes during the French Revolution. Aziraphale gave him a half-hearted smile, “I do hope you’re right.”

“Of course he’s right!” Anthony said. “You just gotta sing it, angel. You won’t hardly have to act it at all. You’re already good enough.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “A good enough actor to not act?”

“No. A good enough person to not act. Any other kid would have to pretend to be the type of person who’d help someone get a second chance, even if they didn’t get anything out of it. You don’t gotta pretend, angel. That’s what you did for me and mom. It’s just the kind of person you are.”

Elijah readily agreed but, as Aziraphale looked down, into that certain little, freckled face, he couldn’t help but think Anthony was wrong. Aziraphale might have helped him get a second chance, but he had gotten so much more than nothing out of it.

* * *

This time when Tony followed Ezra through the doors of Westwich High School, he did so with some swagger in his step. Today he wasn’t trying out. Today he was already in.

Although most of the rehearsals would take place at night, this afternoon the entire cast would gather in the auditorium to get their schedules, meet one another, and read through the script together. It would just be Anthony and a whole group of High Schoolers (and two tiny sixth grade girls, but that was neither here nor there). He’d spent the whole day at school regaling Mikey and Ryan with his early entry into the high school’s hallowed halls, and their envy fed him still.

Today he and Ezra entered into the auditorium through one of its regular doors, rather than straight onto the stage. Tony had been here before, to see Ezra’s shows, but the energy was different today. The fading, plush seats, were not filled with ticket holders but by abandoned coats and backpacks. The owners of these odds and ends were all gathered up on the stage, sitting on the floor in what might generously be considered a circle.

At the moment they were all talking excitedly with one another, the auditorium’s acoustics increasing the pleasant cacophony. Leaving their own coats in one of the seats- Tony’s in a slump, Ezra’s nicely folded- they proceeded onto the stage to join the rest of the cast.

Tony recognized a few of them. There was Ezra’s friend Rachel, the weepy girl who’d thought she’d flubbed her audition, and of course Violet Tanaka. She looked just as cool as she had last week, today in ripped jeans and a Sex Pistols hoodie. Tony waved when he caught her eye and pointed enthusiastically to his The Clash shirt.

Violet stared a moment, then laughed and gave him a thumbs up. Flush with victory, Tony continued after Ezra.

Mr. Velasquez, standing on the edge of his circle of pupils, grinned when he saw them and gestured for a few of the students to make room. Ezra stopped to speak with him before taking the seat, “Are we the last to arrive?”

“Actually we’re still waiting on our little Cosette and little Eponine. They were coming from the middle school too so they should be right behind- speak of the devil!”

Tony turned and looked across the auditorium. A woman had just entered, followed by two small girls. Mr. Velasquez clapped his hands together and suddenly spoke in a much louder voice, “Fantastic! You can come sit right up here and we’ll all get started.”

A hush fell over the students and they all leaned in closer to peer at their teacher. “Welcome everyone, to the first rehearsal for our 2004 production of Les Miserables!”

There was a great deal of cheering, complete with whistling and the occasional whoop.

Mr. Velasquez waved for quiet. “Now, I want to start by congratulating you all on making the cast. Although this is the largest cast I’ve ever had, I still had to make a lot of cuts. Every one of you deserves to be here and you should be proud for getting in. It’s at this point in every production that I am compelled to repeat the old adage ‘there are no small parts, only small actors’ but in this show I can actually say that with confidence. _Les Miserables_ has a fun chorus to be in, with lots of great crowd numbers. You’re all going to have plenty to do and I expect each and every one of you to give it your all.”

More cheering at this point and Ezra took the moment to stand up and whisper something to the teacher. Mr. Velasquez laughed.

“It has been pointed out to me that I have forgotten to introduce myself. For those of you who didn’t get me for ninth grade English and haven’t done one of our shows before, my name is Mr. Velasquez. As long as he’s up here, I’ll also introduce the student responsible for keeping me from losing my head. This is Ezra, he’s a member of our cast _and_ your stage manager. He is the glue that connects cast and crew. His word is law when I’m not around, got it?”

The more experienced members of the cast gave a round of applause, even as Ezra turned red and tried to sink back down to the floor. No one was louder than Tony, who not only clapped, but stamped his feet against the stage for good measure.

“Okay, so our first rehearsal is traditionally a read through, meaning we go through the script, everyone gets a chance to read aloud their lines for the first time, we all get to hear the full story, and usually with the spring musical I’ll play the cd whenever we get to one of the songs, since our music teacher can only do evenings and none of you know your parts yet anyway. Problem is, Les Mis is sung straight through. I’ve gone back and forth on this, but I’ve decided we’re just going to read the songs as though they’re lines. I do suggest you get a copy of the soundtrack though, if you can get your hands on it. You could even get one between a couple of you and listen to that together.”

“Mr. V, you know we can download music off the internet, right?” A student shouted.

“Mathew, as far as I know, you are all incapable of such vicious thievery, burning CDs is impossible, and LimeWire does not exist.” Tony giggled along with the rest of the cast. “On an unrelated note, I’m about to pass out the scripts and I would appreciate it if no one in the chorus would remark on the fact that their scripts came from the school’s copy machine and also say _no unauthorized copies_ in the corner.”

Without needing a direct request, Ezra and Rachel stood up and hurried to help Mr. Velasquez with the scripts. There were only twenty or so official copies of the rented script, and the students that received them were encouraged to write in pencil only under pain of death (or at a loss of twenty five dollars).

Tony, expecting to be treated as a second class citizen, was shocked to find himself handed a proper script. His mouth hung open as he looked up at Ezra. “Seriously?”

“We were told to give them to the named roles first, and then by year. You have one of the larger roles, Anthony, and I know you can be careful with this. You’ll treat it properly, won’t you?”

He nodded. “Do you get one too?”

Ezra laughed, “I suppose I could, but I’d actually prefer one of the more… dubious scripts. I take copious notes as stage manager and I don’t fancy erasing everything at the end of the run.”

As Ezra moved away, off to make more deliveries, Tony looked closely at the one in his lap. He’d seen the artwork from the Broadway production before, but there was something funny about the cover. It took him a moment to realize that the dramatic picture of young Cosette had been edited into a letterman’s jacket and was now clutching a pile of books. They would be doing the school edition and who ever had designed the scripts did not want them to forget it.

Forgetting the cover, Tony eagerly opened the book only to find himself disappointed. He had thought, since the show was sung straight through, that his script would contain the sheet music. All he had was words. Somewhat deflated, he wondered where the music director was and what they’d done with the score.

Still, it was hard to remain despondent once all the scripts were in hand and the cast began to introduce themselves. Just getting to stand up and announce himself when it came his turn in the circle, as though he were one of the high schoolers, made Tony feel as though he’d never be disappointed by anything again.

From introductions they moved on to a synopsis of the show and from that to the read through itself. Even without the singing, the show was quite long and Gavroche would not make an appearance until things were well underway. Tony, already acquainted with the music and having heard Ezra’s detailed explanation of the book, found it difficult to keep his mind from wandering. He studied his castmates’ faces, took the laces out of his shoes, practiced looking interested, and more than anything, watched Ezra.

For all the time they spent together, he didn’t often get to see the older boy in his element. He sat with his script in his lap, already taking note of needed props from the very first page. When it came time to play the bishop, he did so with the wonderful reading voice that Tony had known since the Clarks had first taken him in. They hadn’t read together in a while, not the way they used to, and hearing him now, it occurred to Tony just how low Ezra’s voice had gotten. It had changed so gradually over the years that he’d never really thought about how much Ezra sounded like an adult.

He acted like one too. The way he smiled encouragingly at the nervous freshman who’d scored a single line, the way he gently reminded actors who didn’t realize their turn had come, the way he looked uncomfortable having to sit on the ground.

Tony stopped watching him so intently when they reached the musical’s largest time skip and headed into the words of ‘Look Down’, wherein Gavroche introduced himself. He read his lines easily, with feeling, as the high schoolers listened curiously to see if he was actually any good. He must have done a decent job, as things moved on without any incident. Tony had the Broadway soundtrack on his iPod and knew Gavroche wouldn’t make an appearance again for a while, so he went back to studying Ezra.

What he hadn’t taken into consideration was that the soundtrack didn’t include every incidental piece of singing that occurred between the bigger numbers. When the casts’ single-minded Inspector Javert finished boldly swearing to track down Jean Valjean the stage went silent.

Ezra gave another gentle reminder, this time to Tony. “Anthony, that’s your line.”

He managed not to blush. It wasn’t embarrassing, not really. Plenty of people had missed a moment or two, it was hard with their new, unmarked scripts. Tony just had to not make a big deal out of it. “Oh! Thanks, angel.”

Then someone said ‘awww!’, another ‘that’s adorable!’, and then everyone was giggling. Later Ezra would tell him that no one had been laughing at him, they’d simply found it cute and charming, but Tony already knew that. That was the problem. He’d wanted so badly to join Ezra and the other high schoolers- to be treated like an equal. Now here they were, cooing over him like he was a little kid. Tony could feel himself turning bright red and wished the stage would open up and eat him whole.

Mr. Velasquez cleared his throat and the cast fell silent. “Tony, would you please continue?”

He nodded, sheepish, and read his next line.

* * *

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Aziraphale said as he climbed into the car, his voice a bit more chipper than he actually felt. It wasn’t that he was lying; he had thought rehearsal had gone well. But there had been a low point in the middle and he was actively trying not to bring it up.

Anthony got into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. His new script lay in his lap and he brushed the cover tenderly with his fingers. “Yeah, I guess so. It’ll be really fun, I think, once we actually get started and everything.”

Good, Anthony wasn’t dwelling then. Cheered by that, Aziraphale hummed to himself as he turned on the heat, flicked on his lights, and backed out of his spot, careful not to hit any members of the cast now scattered throughout the parking lot. It was still midwinter and, although it was not quite dinnertime, the sun was already down.

“I know you’re not scheduled to come to every rehearsal but, if you’re mother doesn’t mind, I’m sure it would be fine for you to come along with me,” Aziraphale said as they pulled out of the school parking lot. “I know I’d like your company and I’m sure Mr. Velasquez and the other students would be happy to have you.”

“Does anyone else do that? Go to rehearsal’s that they’re not scheduled for?”

“Occasionally, and mostly just other members of the drama program. But, given your age, I’m sure we could make a special case anyway. It’s one thing to have your peers watch the awkward early stages of a production. It’s different with a child.”

By this point in any drive, Anthony ought to playing with the radio. Today the car stayed quiet. Aziraphale turned to look at him when they reached the first traffic light. “Are you alright?”

Anthony stared out the front windshield, glaring at nothing in particular. “It’s babyish, isn’t it?”

“What?”

Still not looking at him, Anthony answered, “When I call you ‘angel’.”

The light turned green, but Aziraphale’s foot remained frozen to the brake. Someone behind them honked and he remembered to move. The vehicle lurched forward awkwardly as Aziraphale got a hold on himself. “I don’t mind, Anthony. I _like_ that you call me that. It reminds me… it reminds me… of everything we’ve been to each other.”

His knuckles had gone white from how tight he was gripping the steering wheel and he swallowed the lump in his throat that was considering becoming tears. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Anthony turn to him, see him rest the back of his head against the seat and smile as he rolled his eyes.

“You still think of me as a little kid. Don’t you, an… Ezra?”

“We’ve discussed this. I’ve always considered you my very dearest friend, age difference aside. You don’t need to worry about me not wanting to spend time with you just because-”

“I’m not talking about that. I know we’re best friends, but you still think of me as being little. I’m your best friend who happens to be a little kid. Right?”

Although he was concerned it might be the wrong thing to say, Aziraphale decided to answer honestly. “I suppose so. Yes.”

Being a child was part and parcel to the way he mentally defined the being by his side. It was one of the ways he had differentiated him from Crowley. Crowley was an adult. Anthony was a kid. It was one of the lines that had kept things clear.

“You remember when we talked about you not being told old to be my friend?”

“Of course I do. I just brought it up.”

“Yeah, but do you remember when it was?” Anthony was looking at him again and Aziraphale wished he could look back. Wished he could see more of the boy’s expression than the blurry vision at the corner of his eye, beyond the reach of his glasses.

“It was… it was around when I started high school.”

“You were thirteen when you started high school.”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna be thirteen next month.”

Aziraphale knew that. Of course he knew that. Yet, somehow, hearing it said aloud in this context seemed shocking just the same. Perhaps it was the way Anthony had said it. He wasn’t simply growing up; he was aware of it. He wasn’t simply wishing not to be a little kid anymore; he wasn’t one. 

“And I suppose…” Aziraphale began, seeing the writing on the wall, “…teenagers don’t call their friends ‘angel’ anymore.”

“Yeah. I don’t think they do.”

They’d arrived home now, the car parked cleanly in the back corner of the church parking lot. They gathered up their school bags and scripts in silence, then stood looking one another in the moonlight.

For the moment, Anthony looked every bit the child.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, “Well, if you don’t wish to use the nickname, I’m not going to pressure you.”

“An-Ezra, you’re not choking up are you?”

“N-no,” Aziraphale said, choking back tears.

“It’s not like we won’t be friends if I’m not using it. It’s just a name. Something that small couldn’t get between us. You know that, right?”

“Of course not. I’m just… I’m just… mourning what was. I look forward to getting to know teenage Anthony, but I’ll miss the little friend who called me ‘angel’.”

The boy rolled his eyes fondly and hiked his backpack farther up on his shoulders as he turned to head for the apartment, “You don’t need to get all sad about it. I’ll still be the same me I’ve always been. G’night, Ezra.”

“Goodnight…” Aziraphale watched him go, still waving even after he’d turn the corner and there was no one left to bid goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once you've forgiven me for Tony growing up, here's a bit of theater for those of you who don't know the musical-
> 
> Here's an example of Tony's role: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fpTufcJuIU
> 
> And here's Aziraphale's entire part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dx0w_cuP79k


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warning:  
> There is a brief description of a date from Maddy's High School years in which she implies things could have ended very badly, but does not go into detail.

Tony flipped through the printed calendar that Ezra had tucked into his script, struggling to get a good grip through the fabric of his gloves. It had been just a few days since the opening read through, but it was Tony’s first trip back to the school. His mother had agreed to let him tag along with Ezra every once in a while, but she hadn’t wanted him gone every night. When he’d asked why she’d said that she loved him and wanted to see him sometimes.

That had made it difficult to argue with her.

Tonight though he hadn’t even had to ask; tonight Gavroche was on the schedule.

“How come we don’t learn everything in order?” he asked, as Ezra guided his father’s car into the school parking lot.

“Shows are very rarely rehearsed in order, possibly never. There are a lot of people involved in a production and, generally, one doesn’t want them having to hang around without purpose. By choosing certain chunks of scenes at certain times, Mr. Velasquez can limit the number of students required and work around various schedules. Well, at least at the start. By the end we’ll all be there every night.”

It had snowed that afternoon, not enough to cancel school, but enough to coat everything in a picturesque layer of white. It made the grass crunch beneath Tony’s feet when he and Ezra exited the vehicle and cut across the school grounds toward the auditorium.

Despite his embarrassment from the other day, he was excited to be back. They weren’t rehearsing any huge chorus numbers today, just one character’s big solo and a few little connecting scenes that got cut out of most copies of the soundtrack. That meant there wouldn’t be so many people to try and impress and it made Tony feel important for getting called in. On top of all that, they’d be doing pull out song rehearsals with the music director. Even if Tony wound up stinking as an actor, at least part of night would be spent on something he knew he was good at.

His excitement died the moment he stepped foot into the auditorium. He knew the woman standing on the corner of the stage talking to Mr. Velasquez and he had not expected to see her here.

Before Ezra could start heading down the aisle toward the stage, Tony grabbed for his sleeve and tugged him backwards. When the older boy turned to look at him, Tony hissed, “What is _she_ doing here?”

Ezra looked at the stage and blinked a few times before his eyes went wide with understanding. “Oh, yes, well… you see, in previous years our music director was Mrs. Schneider, the chorus director, but her daughter just had a baby and she wants to be around to help with that so she decided to step down.”

Tony’s glare hardened and Ezra wilted as he continued. “So, Mr. Velasquez had to find someone else in the school’s music department who might be interested and Mrs. Ferguson was the only one who took him up on it. You knew she’d been teaching here the past few years. That’s why there was an opening at our old elementary school when mother was looking for a job.”

“I knew she was at the high school. I didn’t know she was helping with the play!” Tony said through gritted teeth. “When were you going to tell me?”

Ezra twisted his script in his hands, “Now?”

“What the hell?”

“I didn’t think it would matter… much. I know you’re not terribly fond of her, but you got along decently enough in fifth grade, didn’t you? She’s the one who got you started on violin. I thought you’d formed a sort of truce.”

“Yeah, the kind of truce where you have to write it down and get a third person to sign it so you both don’t try to kill each other!” It was difficult to be angry and whisper at the same time, but Tony managed to do it.

“Oh, Anthony, I _am_ sorry. You’ve every right to be cross with me. I thought you might not want to do the show if I brought it up and I… well I was a coward and I have no excuse.” Despite the fact that Ezra was well over a foot taller than him, Tony couldn’t help but think he seemed small when he got so pathetic. Ezra looked so guilty that Tony stopped complaining. Ezra would do a better job beating himself up than Tony ever could anyway.

So he huffed and rolled his eyes, “I’ll be fine, Ezra. I just wish you’d told me.”

“I should have, you’re right. Whatever you want, just ask. I’ll make it up to you.”

Strolling down the aisle with more confidence than he felt, Tony didn’t answer. There was no use trading IOUs with Ezra, since they were constantly doing stuff for each other anyway. Besides, there were more important things to deal with right now. He had to face an old rival.

He went on the offensive, “Hi, Mr. V. Hello, Mrs. Ferguson.”

Mr. Velasquez waved before casting a nervous glance between Tony and the music director. For a moment, Tony wasn’t sure why, but then it occurred to him that Mr. Velasquez _knew_. Tony had told him about it the first time they’d had a real conversation.

“Anthony, hello. It’s good to see you again. I was quite impressed by your audition. Well done,” Mrs. Ferguson said with what passed for her as a smile. Tony found himself caught a bit flat footed.

“Uh, thanks… And um, do you think you could call me Tony?”

“If you’d like.” And then she went back to talking with Mr. Velasquez as if nothing momentous had occurred. Tony sat in one of the plush auditorium chairs and tried to understand life.

It wasn’t long before the actors on that evening’s call list had all arrived. Violet was the last of them, skidding into the auditorium just a moment before 7:00. Mr. Velasquez stepped to the front of the stage and laughed, “Right on time, Violet, and not a moment to spare. Could you come join us up front?”

When she had, he clapped his hands together, “Alright everybody, it’s going to be kind of a weird one tonight. We’re going to be blocking the segment between the end of ‘Look Down’ and the scene with all the students at the ABC Café. That’s going to mean a lot of entrances and exits. In the actual show there will be even more people on stage, but I wanted to get the basic blocking down before I start drafting in chorus members to fill everything out. We’ve got Mrs. Ferguson here tonight and the plan is for us to kind of rotate. None of you are on stage the whole time, so when we’re not working on your blocking you might be chosen to go practice your singing parts in her music room. At the end of the night we’ll try running through it with the actual songs just once to see it all together, but I don’t expect anything to be amazing tonight. We’re just sort of drafting in the pieces. Is that okay with everybody?”

It was. They all nodded.

“Pete, Javert won’t be on for a while and you’ve got the only major song of the evening, so why don’t you go practice first.” The lanky, unintimidating boy who was playing the inspector nodded then left the room with Mrs. Ferguson. At least it wasn’t Tony. “I’m going to need my Thenardiers and their whole gang up on stage. You too Tony; don’t forget your script. I want my rebel students off stage right and Valjean and Cosette off stage left. And Ezra- already prepared to take notes, I should have known.”

Rehearsing, Tony soon realized, involved a lot more trial and error than he’d expected. He wasn’t surprised by the stopping and starting, he was used to that in orchestra class, but everything he learned there was already written out and decided. They stopped and started when they messed up or were adding in another section, not because his orchestra teacher changed her mind about how Pachelbel should sound.

Here though, Mr. Velasquez changed his mind a lot. He’d have the students try something, shake his head, and then move someone around. He’d like something and then go to stand somewhere else in the auditorium and decide it didn’t work after all. It wasn’t as though he were just moving them around like action figures though, he’d ask them how the staging felt, or stop to have conversations about character emotions. There was a whole five minute back and forth just about how two characters should look at one another when they fell in love at first sight.

It was interesting though, mostly, even though Tony didn’t have much to do. Gavroche was just sort of in the background chilling during most of this section and, even though there would be plenty to react to when Valjean was actually robbed in front of him, it was hard to stay invested when all of that was happening in slow motion. He kept zoning out and watching everyone around him instead, enjoying the process of watching all the puzzle pieces come together. From the top of the box he was sitting on (a stand in for any piece of furniture they might have on the actual set) he could see Ezra sitting in the front row. The older boy was scribbling down stage direction into the margins of his script whenever a segment had been mostly finalized. He kept putting his head down, very close to the page, and he’d gotten a little smudge of pencil lead on the tip of his nose.

Tony kept thinking about wiping it off.

“Okay, I think we’ve got some good movement. Hopefully it will hold up once we get some chorus kids in here to fill out the stage. Let’s run it through once from Thenardier giving out orders to Eponine warning everyone about Javert’s approach. Then we’ll get Pete in here to do the next section.”

They weren’t singing yet, everyone was just sort of reciting their lines, but it was easier to act now that everything was moving at speed. It was shocking how little they seemed to have done in over half an hour. Tony finally understood why it might take four months just for one weekend’s worth of shows.

“Tony, since Gavroche runs off when the inspector is announced, you won’t be on during the next section. Can you go send Pete to us and you can practice your song part for tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know where the classroom is.”

Ezra looked up from his script. “Go out the stage door and take a right. It will the second door on the left. It should be the only one with the lights on. Come back if you can’t find it, will you, dear?”

Tony flushed, glancing around at his castmates to see if anyone had caught the ‘dear’. No one had reacted but then, Ezra had a tendency to call everybody that.

There were no excuses not to go, so Tony let himself out into the darkened school hallways. He’d never been alone in a school at night and it felt as if he were somewhere he shouldn’t be. It was the same way he felt sometimes walking through the church to get up to the apartment, a bit uneasy, a bit like he could get up to good mischief if only he let himself get creative.

Finding Mrs. Ferguson’s music room was as easy as Aziraphale had implied. The door was closed but light shone through its window, and he could hear sound leaking out around the edges. He paused in front of it, not wanting to interrupt in the middle of a song. Pete might not have looked like much of a Javert, but it was clear from listening to him why he’d gotten the part.

_“I will never rest_

_‘til then, this I swear_

_This I swear by the stars”_

Tony could I have stood in the hallway listened to him hold that last note for all eternity but, eventually it came to an end, and he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Mrs. Ferguson called.

Tentatively, but trying not to look tentative, Anthony entered the room. “Mr. V wants Pete and he said I should stay and practice instead.”

“Alright. Pete, you may go. That was well done for our first rehearsal. Make sure to practice your breathing though. You want to end that final note looking strong, not as though you’re going to pass out the moment you get off stage.”

“Right, uh, thanks, Mrs. Ferguson.” Then Pete made his escape and Tony was left alone in the lion’s den.

The lion did not look up, she was too busy writing something in the corner of her sheet music. “So, it’s been a few years. Have you been keeping up with the violin?”

Tony took a few actual steps into the room, “Yeah. It’s not my favorite instrument or anything, but I like it alright. Orchestra’s my favorite class.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I was worried you might still be finding music class boring.” She looked at him over the piano and the rim of her glasses.

He squirmed under her gaze. “Well, I do sometimes, but I like looking through the sheet music when I’m bored and I doodle a lot.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Have you gotten a chance to look at the full score for the musical yet?”

“Nope. Our scripts only got the lyrics in ‘em.”

“Properly, what you have is called a _libretto_ not a script. I believe I’ve got the only copy of the score that Music Theatre International sent to the school. Come here. Take a look.” She gestured for him to come stand behind her, but Tony, one brow furrowed, stayed exactly where he was. “Is something wrong?”

“How come you don’t hate me?”

There was a heavy sigh from the piano bench and Mrs. Ferguson pinched the bridge of her nose. “I never hated you, An-Tony.”

“Felt like it.”

She sighed again and made a fresh attempt to answer him. “I have been teaching for a quarter of a century, over twenty of those years at the elementary level and in retrospect I don’t think I was ever quite suited for it. I was always too strict for that age group, and I didn’t enjoy teaching music when it was compulsory. That being said, I didn’t really come to terms with that until I’d already failed you.”

Mrs. Ferguson looked up at him, meeting his eye directly. “You are one of the most talented students I have ever taught and I had become so set in my ways that I overlooked it. That experience was quite… humbling for me. It caused a lot of reconsidering. It was the reason I was eager to move to the high school when a position opened here. All that being said. I still regret my choices with you and I’m sorry that you felt I hated you. I’d hoped that your fifth grade year had left you with a different impression.”

Earlier that week, Tony had made a big show of telling Ezra that he really wasn’t a kid anymore, but it still felt weird for an adult to trust him with this sort of conversation. It really was a good thing she’d gotten herself out of the elementary school.

“I mean, just as long as you aren’t mad you’ve got to work with me,” Tony said with an uneven smile.

Mrs. Ferguson looked genuinely surprised. “Of course not. You could read music better in the fourth grade than a lot of the students in this production. Considering Gavroche doesn’t have any particularly difficult music, I imagine you’ll need less work than practically anyone else in the cast.”

Tony’s smile became a little more even.

“Now, please come here. We’ve got to go over your section for this evening and we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

The next fifteen minutes passed surprisingly quickly and, to his shock, Tony found that he enjoyed working with Mrs. Ferguson. She was blunt where she found fault, terse with her compliments, and utterly lacking in basic human warmth. He remembered clearly why he’d never liked her in the first place, but there was one major change that made none of that seem to matter anymore: she let him ask questions. Perhaps it was because she was happier in her new job, perhaps she’d always been better suited to one on one lessons, or perhaps she was actively making the effort, but for whatever reason she was willing to feed Tony’s curiosity.

Instead of merely giving him the vocal sheet music for the interlude they were working on, she let him look through the orchestration for the number. When she saw him grow bored singing the same few lines over and over again, they practiced another song. By the time Violet and the boy who played Marius came to knock on the door, Tony was sitting on the piano bench beside Mrs. Ferguson so he could watch her play through his section.

He felt far better leaving than he had going in. All the worries that had washed over him when he saw her standing on stage were banished. Tony was certain that every moment of every rehearsal would be nothing but fun.

* * *

February 2004

Aziraphale could count on one hand the number of times that he’d had pizza before becoming human, and four of those occasions had been in Naples. After becoming human, however, particularly one in the tristate area of the United States at the turn of the second millennium, pizza had become a fixture in his life. It was part of the weekly clockwork, the surest sign that the weekend had begun. A Friday never passed without the Jays and a few boxes of pizza arriving in the Clark household.

He’d miss this when he returned to England.

Certainly there’d been enough Italian immigration to London that Aziraphale could seek out the taste if he needed it, but it still wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be seated on the floor by Anthony. There’d be no fire flickering pleasantly in the hearth or weekly catch up sessions between the two families. It would just be him, alone, sitting in some empty dorm room.

But there should be no dwelling on that now. He ought to enjoy what he had, while he had it. Besides, he still hadn’t made up his mind about purposely failing his AP exams or not.

“I haven’t seen the very first part of the show yet, but Ezra says it’s coming along real well.” Tony had somehow managed to inhale two slices already. The boy was not a big eater, but he ate remarkably fast. Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if he’d retained the ability to unhinge his jaw and swallow things whole.

“ _Is_ it going alright, buddy?” Elijah asked.

Aziraphale nodded, wiping his mouth before he spoke. “I think so, at least considering where we are in the rehearsal process. Our little Cosette leaves a bit to be desired. Her voice is lovely but there isn’t much _there_. The poor thing can’t quite capture anything between sad and happy. Of course she is only eleven, so I don’t want to have unfair expectations.”

“I’m only twelve and Mr. V said I’m doing alright.”

“ _Only_ twelve is a bit disingenuous from a boy who’s birthday is at the end of the month.” Aziraphale raised a teasing eyebrow, “And you probably shouldn’t be making comparisons until you can get through your death scene without breaking into giggles.”

“Shut up, Ezra.”

Edith, who never seemed to differentiate playful banter from a legitimate quarrel, interrupted to break what she saw as tension, “So, Tony, are you fitting in alright? Are the high schoolers being nice to you?”

“Oh, yeah. Everybody in the cast talks to me as much as anybody else. And some of the kids are really cool too. You know Violet Tanaka?” Of course they did, how could they not? Every story Tony told about rehearsal included at least some mention of her. Aziraphale watched his face light up as all the adults nodded. “Well, when Ezra took me to rehearsal the other day, on one of the nights when I wasn’t called, she was there. They spent a lot of time running a piece she wasn’t in though, so she went to hang out in the hallway and practice her guitar. She’s got a black and red telecaster and she let me try it. And you should hear her sing, she’s got a really good voice and not just Broadway style either. At one point in the play she’s gotta scream really loud and she did this full on rock scream the first time they were practicing it. It was so metal!”

This was, in no small part, the reason Anthony had never seen the beginning of the show. On the handful of nights when Maddy had let him tag along to rehearsals that were not his own, he always chose evenings when Violet was called. It was odd to see the two of them together. Violet had been in Aziraphale’s classes since as far back as elementary school. She’d always come across as surly, sarcastic, and rather intimidating, yet she and Anthony had won each other over almost immediately.

“Tony, you’re really fond of this girl, huh?” Elijah asked. There was something odd about his expression, a slight glimmer of mischief in his eye. Aziraphale froze in the middle of taking his next slice.

“Yeah, I mean, she’s pretty boss.”

“Have you got a little crush on her?”

Aziraphale’s slice fell unceremoniously back into the box, losing some of its cheese in the process. He had not even considered this. Surely Anthony would have told him if something so momentous as a first crush had occurred? It would explain his utter fascination with the girl, but surely he was too young for any of that yet. It was too soon to start thinking about him starting to date and falling in love and getting married and leaving Aziraphale behind forever.

“I don’t… I don’t _think_ I have a crush on her.” Anthony’s brow was deeply furrowed and he stared at the pattern of the carpet as though some answer might be hidden there. If Anthony had been certain of his feelings, Aziraphale knew him well enough to wager he’d be defensive. Right now, he simply looked lost. “I mean, I’d know if I had a crush on somebody, wouldn’t I? And she’s Ezra’s age anyway; she’s way too old.”

“Of course she’s too old, little guy. I wasn’t suggesting you ask her out or anything. But it’s pretty common for kids your age to get crushes on people older than them. I mean, there’s a reason those boy bands were so popular a few years back. And, to be honest, when I was eleven I was madly in love with my babysitter. I told my best friend the two of us were going out.” He laughed and shook his head at his past self.

By this point Edith had turned bright red, “Oh, I’d try so hard to forget about it, but when I was thirteen I had such a crush on my youth pastor. I used to write his name all over my diary. I was convinced he’d want to marry me when I turned eighteen. Looking back, I stuttered so much when I talked with him, I’m sure he must have known.”

Thinking of his own disastrous behavior freshman year, Aziraphale hoped she was wrong. He wanted to live in a world where Mr. Velasquez had not noticed.

“Man, Edith, you stuck with a type, huh?” Maddy said. “Gave up on one pastor and married another.”

“I guess. I’d never thought of it that way. Did you have any precocious crushes when you were a girl?”

Maddy’s face went briefly blank. Then she sighed, “Nothing as wholesome as the two of you. I had a crush on a senior my freshman year of high school. He took me to a party once and I drank so much that I vomited all over his shirt and I had to get one of my older friends to drive me home… Honestly, that’s probably the best way that night could have ended. Oh, and freshman year of _college_ I moved in with a guy who was a few years older than me. We all know how that one went… At least I got myself a Tony out of that one.”

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Tony had grown more confused with each story and now looked utterly bewildered.

Desperate to lighten the mood again Maddy said, “Well, it’s nothing you need to be sure about, Tony. If you have a crush on her, cool, if you don’t then she’s still an awesome girl who let you use her guitar. Anyway, since you’re done eating, do you mind running back to the apartment? Mr. Rossini’s wife has been baking up a storm, and he brought some of those fancy Italian cookies into work today. They should be on our counter.”

Anthony, relieved to have an excuse to escape, hurried out of the room with nothing more than a nod.

When the door was shut behind him, Elijah sucked air in through his teeth. “Oof, I really shouldn’t have said anything. He just seems so sweet on that girl, I thought he might like to talk about it.”

“I doubt he’d want to talk to _us_ about it. Ezra, maybe, but not the rest of us,” said Maddy.

“Well, he hasn’t said anything to me if that’s what you’re angling for. I don’t think romance had even crossed his mind. I think he just enjoys having someone beside his mother who’ll talk about rock and roll music with him,” Aziraphale said with less certainty than he would have had ten minutes ago. “That and I think he wants an electric guitar for his birthday.”

To his surprise, Maddy’s face grew worried. She mumbled, “You’re right about that.”

“Is something the matter?”

“I just… I wish I could get him a _good_ one. It’s not like it’s some new hobby he wants to pick up, it’s the next stage in something he loves and he’s really dedicated too. And he’s big enough now for a full sized instrument, whatever I get him he could use for years! He deserves something better than I can afford…”

Edith reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You know you two are like family to us. Let us help.”

Maddy shook her head. “You guys have already done so much for us. You offered to pay for the amp. You’ve let us stay in that apartment _way_ longer than I think anyone in your church originally intended. I can’t ask for more. Especially not this year, when you have to get Ezra everything he needs for college. Tony knows we’re saving up to move out; he’s not expecting anything more than a low end guitar. I just wish I could give him more than he expects.”

Aziraphale stared thoughtfully at the grease that had settled in a piece of pepperoni on his pizza. Softly he asked, “How much _is_ a high end electric guitar?”

Maddy’s voice was wistful, “Over a thousand bucks.”

In a bookshop in London sat a treasure trove of antique books. If he made the right choice, he could sell one and buy the boy as many guitars as he wanted. This was, of course, impossible. The books were across the sea and currently locked behind an antichrist brand miracle. But then, then he had brought a few of them with him…

The thought of selling his books, the ones so treasured that he’d brought them across the sea, made Aziraphale’s throat grow tight. He struggled to swallow his last bite of pizza. But wasn’t Anthony worth it? Hadn’t he worked himself into a state of exhaustion to take Aziraphale back to London? If he could make such a sacrifice, so could Aziraphale.

Although, if Anthony ever found out, he’d probably pawn the guitar and come up with a hare brained scheme to get Aziraphale’s book back.

So, even if Aziraphale got over himself, that wouldn’t quite do. But then, there were other books. He hadn’t stopped collecting just because he’d become human. He’d done some good work at the odd library and tag sale. He’d put together a little collection of American classics, a variety of early editions, a handful of first editions. It was a hobby, a compulsion, nothing that would distress him so much that Anthony would feel compelled to play hero.

Besides, he needed an excuse to sit down and do some refurbishment again.

“When were you planning to purchase the guitar? Exactly?”

Maddy blinked, “Um, Mr. Rossini said I could take off early on Tony’s birthday, it’s not like we do a ton of business in February. I was going to pick him up from school as a surprise and take him shopping. I think it’s something he should pick out himself, even if we’re stuck in the budget section.”

“So, we’ve most of the month then… I know you said you didn’t want to take any money from my parents. But if I gave you some, could I help raise the budget?”

“Ezra…”

“I’m quite serious. I know you feel that my parents have done so much for you, but _I_ haven’t. If I added up every gift I’d ever given Anthony, I still wouldn’t be able to repay him for what he’s given me. I’d be happy to help. Please.”

Maddy smiled, “Sure, Ez. Although, I don’t agree that you haven’t done anything for us. It just hasn’t been monetary.”

“Buddy, how much Christmas money do you have saved up?” Elijah asked, “You usually spend it pretty quickly.”

“Oh, I have enough to make an investment in the supplies I’ll need. Then it’s just a matter of finding buyers.”

The adults undoubtedly had further questions, but they were never spoken. Anthony returned with the cookie tin looking as confused as he had when he left.

* * *

Tony had been waiting outside by Elijah’s car for five minutes, stomping his feet and rubbing his hands together in a desperate attempt to get warm. Usually Ezra was already waiting for him, the heat on, a smile on his face. On somedays he even had something warm for Tony to drink. Tonight, though, he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, when Tony glanced up, he could still see the light on in his room.

Hugging himself for warmth, Tony abandoned the vehicle and hurried to the Clarks’ front door. He let himself in and found Edith and Elijah cuddled together on the couch. When they saw him, Elijah’s eyes went round, he glanced at the clock, and then he frowned, “I warned him he was going to run late. He’s in his room; go get him.”

Tony nodded and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He found Ezra with his bedroom door open, bent over his desk and utterly absorbed in whatever he was doing. He didn’t even seem to notice Tony standing there. At first Tony thought he must be reading. There were books all over the place, stacked in unruly piles, and Ezra was leaning over one now. But then he raised his hand, drawing a string forth with it, apparently performing some sort of surgery. Tony was afraid to interrupt, in case he made Ezra pull the thread too tight.

He waited until Ezra paused to dab at his brow with a handkerchief (Ezra was the only person he knew who owned a handkerchief) and then Tony cleared his throat.

Ezra’s hand jumped to his chest, “Oh! Tony you frightened me. What are you doing here so early?”

“We’re gonna be late.”

“What?” Ezra looked at his watch. “Oh! Oh no. I lost track of time and after Father warned me too…”

He stood up slowly, carefully removing himself from his book piles, and then rushed from the room, leaving Tony to follow in his wake. They were out the door within a minute, in the car within two, and on the road with the heat blasting in three.

“What were you doing in there anyway?” Tony asked. He didn’t want to ride in silence. He was nervous about rehearsal, nervous about seeing Violet for the first time since he’d been told he might have a crush on her. He wanted an unrelated conversation.

“Oh? I was restoring some of the older books in my collection. I’ve been collecting and collecting without putting in any of the proper repair work. Besides, my collection has grown rather large and I think I could make a tidy sum by selling them.”

“I thought you just bought ‘em to have ‘em.”

“I do. But some of them mean more to me than others and I can’t very well take it all to university anyway.” Ezra stopped speaking a moment so he could watch the traffic at a busy intersection. Tony had always liked his serious face, the one he wore when he was just a little concerned about something, like cars or Tony or choosing the right dessert. He could catch different details of it in the red glow of the stop light. When the light changed, so did Ezra’s expression. They didn’t seem to be running quite so late as he feared, and his face softened into a smile. “I didn’t get a chance to double check. What is it that we’re running tonight?”

It would have been hard to read the schedule in the dim evening light, but Tony didn’t need to. He already knew the answer, “We’re doing ‘Look Down’ the beggars one.”

“Oh! Oh no. It’s one of your biggest numbers and I’ve made us late. I’m so sorry!”

“We’re not really _late;_ we’re just not gonna be early.” They were about five minutes from the school now- rehearsal began in six.

Indecision flickered across Ezra’s features and then the car lurched forward. Tony’s face split into a grin, “Are we _speeding_?”

“Only a little,” Ezra admitted. “Just ten extra miles per hour or so. Most people drive at this speed anyway so really, keeping up with traffic is safer. If you think about it.”

“I wasn’t telling you to stop.”

They arrived with two minutes to spare instead of one, giving them enough time to sprint across the school parking lot and arrived in the auditorium at 6:59. Mr. Velasquez beamed at them from the stage, “Come on and get signed in, you two. I want to start as soon as possible.”

At the smaller rehearsals, when there weren’t too many people called, Mr. Velasquez didn’t bother with a sign in sheet. Today’s number was a crowd scene, however, and the entire chorus was in attendance. There really was no reason to have rushed, students continued to trickle in over the next five minutes.

Tony settled himself by Ezra’s side in the front row and tried not to look too nervous. He kept switching between thinking about rehearsing in front of such a large number of people and worrying about how he’d feel when Violet entered the room. Without a word, Ezra gave one of Tony’s hands a supportive squeeze. Flushing, from some combination of self-awareness and feeling that Ezra was patronizing him, Tony pulled his hand away. He immediately found that he missed it’s warmth.

But there was no time to dwell on that, Violet Tanaka, a few minutes late as always, entered the room. Tony watched and wondered what exactly he was supposed to be feeling. She still looked cool, she always did, and it made him desperately want her approval. He wanted her to notice that he’d worn a band t-shirt again today and that his jeans were ripped at the knee even though it was cold outside. He wanted her to look at him and do that thing where she acknowledged someone just by sort of gesturing with her chin, because it wasn’t worth taking her hands out of her pockets. He wanted her to think he was amazing.

Only he wasn’t certain that actually counted as a crush. He wished there was some sort of check list.

Tony might have spent the whole evening worrying about it, but Mr. V recalled his attention and he went back to fretting about the show. As it turned out, he’d need all his energy just to get through the next two hours.

He had wondered, when he first looked at the schedule, why they were spending one night on just a single song. It turned out that blocking a crowd number was a whole lot more time consuming than anything they’d done before. And Tony did not get a break. Every time they started over it was his turn to sing again and, while everyone else had to walk ploddingly along to the melody, he had to run all over creation.

He began to grow tired from both the endless repetition of other people messing up and from the physicality of it all. He wanted to go home and climb into bed. He wasn’t even nervous when they finally made it to his second verse at the end of the song, it was simply a sign that this would eventually come to an end.

At least he wasn’t nervous until he remembered that he would be directly interacting with Violet.

“Okay, Tony, so at this point most of the chorus will have cleared off stage and the audience will be able to clearly see the Thenardiers and their gang. You’re the audience’s guide again, but I still want you interacting with them,” Mr. Velasquez said. “There’s nothing in the musical that makes it clear that Gavroche is their son, like he is in the book, but if you want to play up the sibling dynamic with Violet, that’s okay.”

Tony nodded. The canned music started up again (Mrs. Ferguson was in the other room with the kid playing Valjean, going over harder sections than this) and Tony started to sing.

“ _Watch out for old Thenardier_

_All of his family’s on the make_

_Once ran a hash-house down the way_

_Bit of a swine and no mistake”_

The Thenardiers and their group picked a few pockets of passing chorus members. Violet was among them. She picked an imaginary pocket as she approached Tony, who kept on singing.

“ _He’s got a gang, the bleeding layabout_

_Even his daughter does her share_

_That’s Eponine, she knows her way about”_

He gave her a sarcastic little hat tip and she rustled his hair. Dimly, Tony noticed that his heart didn’t do any of the leaping he might have expected. But a chorus member was menacing her now and he had more to say.

“ _Only a kid, but hard to scare_

_Do we care? Not a cuss_

_Long live us, long live us!”_

The remaining chorus beggars came in to finish the last few lines of the song. Mr. V leapt out of his chair, nearly upsetting Ezra’s script. “Yes, thank you. Great! It’s almost nine. Let’s run it one more time, no interruptions, and then call it a night.”

So they did, one more time, with the renewed energy of those who could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Tony sang, he ran in and out of rhythmically plodding mobs of downcast beggars, he introduced the Thenardiers, he had his hair ruffled once more (still no fluttering), and the song came to an end.

Tired, but pleased with himself, Tony sat on the edge of the stage while Mr. Velasquez gave a few notes and finally excused them. Ezra stood up from his seat and rushed forward before clearly stopping himself from squeezing Tony. Tony was glad he hadn’t been hugged in front of everybody… and maybe a little disappointed too.

“You were simply wonderful, my dear. You’re going to be perfect by the time we open.”

“He’s right you know, kid. You weren’t half bad.” Tony looked up. Violet was standing on the stage looking down at him.

“You think?” Tony asked.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Ezra told her, smile a little weak. “I’m sure your opinion on anything musical goes a lot farther than mine.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s not that, Ezra. Her opinion means more because you’d tell me I did a good job even if I missed every note and fell off the edge of the stage.”

Ezra blushed, but his smile widened, “I suppose that’s true.”

“Well, I’d laugh at you if that happened, so take my word on this one.” She turned to hop down before looking back. “Oh, since you’re a little rock and roller, I should tell you. My now mostly defunct band, is having a little reunion at the Java House on Saturday afternoon. It’s not the edgiest venue but we’re trying. If you’re interested come by. Have your mom bring you. She sounds cool.”

“Thanks! I’ll ask her!”

As she walked away, Ezra began to gather up their belongings. “When did you tell her about your mother?”

“When she let me play her guitar she asked who taught me. I told her Mom had gotten me into rock and stuff.” Tony shrugged on his coat. Ezra withheld anymore questions until they were back in the safety of his car.

“So,” he began with a wan smile, “Have you decided if it’s a crush?”

“Shut up, Ezra,” Tony said, because he had no other answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's Music:
> 
> What they're rehearsing in the first part-   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LAKom7AhCo  
> and  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4h7e0KHuhk
> 
> And at the second rehearsal-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdmCL4MpXnc


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings today other than for mid-2000s txt speak.

It snowed the Friday before February break, gifting the students of Westwich with one extra day for their vacation. It had stopped by midmorning, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. He had woken at his usual time, made himself some pancakes, and then set to work at his books. The extra time was a blessing, considering the crunch he was under, and besides that, he found that he’d missed this. He liked the careful work of it, the taking something broken, abused, or forgotten, and gifting it a second chance. Each spine he healed, each page he cleaned, brought him a sort of calm that he’d never found anywhere else. 

“Ezra, honey, your friends are the phone. Would it be alright if they stopped by?”

Aziraphale jumped in surprise and then turned to see Edith standing in his doorway with the telephone pressed against her chest. 

“Who is it?” Aziraphale asked. It seemed like the polite thing to do before he said ‘no’.

“Rachel and Keisha.”

Oh, but that changed things. Rachel he saw whenever the chorus was called for rehearsal, but Keisha he hardly saw at all these days. He glanced forlornly at his books and then nodded, “Of course they can come over.”

Edith relayed the message before hanging up the phone. “They think they’ll be here in about an hour, so you’ve still got some time to work.”

“I suppose today is all extra time anyway, so it’s not so bad if I lose the afternoon.” Aziraphale admitted as he turned back to his books. He picked up the specialized eraser he’d been using to remove doodles from second hand library books and then paused. Edith hadn’t left.

“This really is amazing work that you’re doing. I would have no idea where to even start. I’d be afraid to make things worse.” She leaned over his shoulder, admiring the now clean left hand page of the book before him. “How did you learn how to this?”

“Oh, well, er, my family did run an antiquarian bookshop.” He hoped that might be the end of the conversation. He did not enjoy lying to her.

“They taught you how to do this when you were little?”

“I… I paid attention. And I brushed up on the necessary supplies and skills by, er, searching the internet.” Aziraphale had used the internet for school projects before, this wasn’t an unbelievable lie. In fact, it might have been better than the one he’d started with.

Leaning over him, Edith wrapped an arm around his shoulder and gently smoothed his curls. “You’ve never liked talking about them, not even after all this time. It’s alright I won’t make you.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale quietly.

He looked up at her, she was smiling but the expression was tinged with melancholy. “I am glad though, that there are a few good memories too, even if they’re not about the people. And I’m glad that Tony persuaded you to apply to school in London. You love the place so much, you deserve to have more good memories there.”

She squeezed his shoulder and then stepped away. “I won’t keep you from your work anymore. I’ll call you when the girls get here.”

“I-” Aziraphale began. Edith stopped and stayed to look at him. “I’ve made mostly good memories here too.”

Her expression could have lit up a room.

* * *

Ezra was spending the day with his school friends so, when Ryan called and asked if Tony would like to come over, he decided he might as well. His mother’s little car was no good when the roads were bad, so Tony pulled on his boots, put on his coat, zipped it up when Maddy told him to, and plodded off down the snowy sidewalks. It was a long walk to the Rockwell household, made longer by the length of their driveway, and how high he had to lift his feet to move forward. By the time Mrs. Rockwell opened the door for him, Tony’s nose and cheeks were red from the cold and he was in desperate need of a tissue. 

“Oh, Tony, we would have come picked you up if you asked! Come inside and warm up. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please,” he said, and she bustled off to make him some. Tony was fully aware that the Rockwell’s would have picked him up, Ryan talked about his father’s new Hummer often enough, but he’d been too proud to ask. The Rockwells were rich, even by Westwich standards, and sometimes Tony felt like Ryan’s mother saw him as a charity case.

He’d pulled off his coat, along with the scarf and hat Ezra had made him, and left them to hang on a hook by the door. The Rockwells’ entryway was large and round, with remarkably little usable space. An intelligent architect would have included a closet. 

“Here you go, sweetie. Some hot cocoa and a little something extra too. Ryan and Mikey are up in Ryan’s room. You can take this upstairs with you, just be careful not to spill.” She’d given him the mug and an entire sandwich to go with it. 

He bit back the urge to tell her that his mother did, in fact, feed him, and instead thanked her before going up the swirling stair case to the second floor. Balancing the mug and plate without slopping anything over the edge was not an easy feat, but he made it all the way to Ryan’s room without spilling a drop.

“Tony! We thought you got lost or something. Where the hell were you?” said Mikey from where he sat in front of Ryan’s computer. Ryan himself was perched on the edge of his bed, looking unexpectedly anxious.

“I walked, you idiot. It took a while.” Tony settled himself, nonchalantly into one of Ryan’s window seats before carelessly adding, “You want a sandwich?”

“God yes, I’m fucking starving.” This was unsurprising. Two years ago, Tony had been the tallest of the three, but in the last few months Mikey had stretched out like a rubber band. He looked like a proper teenager now, with the acne to prove it, and he was eating like one too.

Tony had been surpassed even by Ryan and it all seemed radically unfair. What was the point of being the first to turn thirteen if he was the only one who could still pass for an elementary schooler?

“Guys could you settle down and listen for a second? I’ve got something really important to tell you and I already had to wait for Tony to get here.”

Mikey, now with sandwich, sat back down in his seat. Tony clutched his hot chocolate and nodded for Ryan to continue.

“Right, so I got a text from Jenny.” He pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open, and dramatically read. “Luv me Y/N?”

Tony almost choked on his overpriced hot chocolate at the same time that Mikey slammed his plate down on the desk and shouted, “What’d you tell her?”

“I… I called you guys. I need advice!” 

“Do you like her?” Tony asked. “I mean, if you don’t, say ‘no’. All the girls at school like you, anyway.”

Ryan was rich and looked like he’d stepped out of a Disney Channel show. His options were far from limited. 

“I mean, Jenny is really cute,” Ryan admitted, cheeks slowly growing flushed. “I like those butterfly clips she wears and how she giggles and stuff.”

“Lots of girls giggle,” said Mikey.

“Not the way she does. Hers is nicer. It’s cute.”

Tony adjusted his lounge into a proper sit. The conversation had just gone from somewhat interesting to relevant. If Ryan had a crush, maybe Tony could figure out exactly how that was supposed to feel.

So far he’d learned that things that were normal became better when your crush did them.

“Do you want to kiss her?” he asked.

Ryan completed his transformation into a tomato. “You mean on the lips?”

Tony nodded. 

“I don’t know.. maybe, yeah. I’d definitely kiss her on the cheek though, if she’d let me, and I wouldn’t mind holding her hand.”

“You’re such a baby, Ry. If any cute girl asked if I liked her I’d say yes, and I’d go _way_ past _hand holding_.”

“Calm down, Mr. Puberty. Ryan’s not dating his imagination,” Tony said levelly.

“I’m not dating _anyone_ yet!”

“You could be. Just tell Jenny you like her. It sounds like you do.” He watched as Ryan took a moment to think it through, before picking up his cell phone again and texting her back.

A hush fell over the room as they waited. When the text alert sounded, all three of them jumped. 

“What’d she say? What’d she say?” Mikey asked. He abandoned the computer desk and went to sit by Ryan’s side. Tony, too cool for that, remained perched in the window seat.

“ILU 2.” 

“That’s good,” said Mikey. “Real good.”

Another text arrived and Ryan read, “B my BF?”

“Go on dude, text her. She wants you.”

“Wait!” Tony shouted. The other boys turned to look at him, “Don’t text. Call her. Do it right.”

Ryan nodded solemnly, stood up, and took his phone out of the room. This was a moment of privacy and gravity. It had to be faced alone. 

“She’d have said yes anyway. Why’d he have to call her?” Mikey asked.

“Because, this way he can set up a date and stuff and he’ll look like a real gentleman.” Tony had watched enough movies with suave protagonists to guess at that, but his mind somehow went to Ezra. He was always doing things the old fashioned way and it made him seem grown up.

Mikey was eyeing Tony oddly, “You got girl experience?”

“Course I don’t. Why’d you think that?”

“My brother’s band is playing at some café tomorrow and he ran into that senior girl, Violet, when he was signing up. He hadn’t seen her around lot, cause she’s doing that same play you are. He asked about it- he remembered that I told him you were doing it.” Tony wondered exactly how Mikey had told his brother, considering he’d try to make fun of Tony for doing the play in the past. “Anyway, she actually knew who he was talking about. She said you were pretty cool. You got a senior girl to notice you!”

“I just talked to her about bands and stuff.”

“Still, do you like her? If you went out with a senior while you were still in middle school, you’d go down in history.”

Tony thought about his mother’s story- the one where the senior boy had gotten her drunk until she puked on him. He doubted dating a kid five years older than him was quite as wonderful as Mikey seemed to think. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if I like her,” Tony admitted. He tried to think about what Ryan had said about Jenny. Tried to imagine himself holding Violet’s hand or kissing her on the cheek. It was a strange image. He made his imaginary self a little older and tried again. His stomach didn’t even flip. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She literally calls me ‘kid’. I’m glad she likes me enough to invite me to her show and stuff, but she doesn’t like me like that.”

“ _She invited you to her show? The one tomorrow? ON VALENTINE’S DAY!?_ ” 

“Yeah. With my mom. And also she invited others kids too.”

“Still, that’s farther than any of the rest of us have gotten.”

Tony rolled his eyes and tried to think of some brilliant piece of biting sarcasm to knock Mikey down. He didn’t need to, because the statement was made void a second later. Ryan walked into the room, eyes full of stars, and floated over to his bed.

“I have a girlfriend,” He announced “We’re gonna go ice skating tomorrow.”

* * *

Rachel and Keisha arrived just as expected and entered Ezra’s room to find him cleaning up his work station. They were more than politely interested and immediately set about asking him how it all worked and exactly what he was up to. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He kept assuming it would bore them, kept trying to redirect the conversation to their lives and their experiences, but they insisted on caring about his. When they were younger it was easier to get them talking endlessly about themselves, but they had outgrown the egotism of early adolescence, and insisted on being good friends.

He had expected them to whisk him away to the mall, to a restaurant, to a cute little shop, by all accounts that was their original intention, but when they heard about his plans for the books all of that changed. He found himself, instead, in Rachel Bateman’s computer room sitting in the corner with a directory in his lap. The girls were crowded at the desk, Rachel on the computer, Keisha with an open notebook.

They were going to spend the day contacting every rare book dealer within a reasonable driving distance.

“You girls really don’t have to do this. I’m sure this isn’t how you intended on spending the day. I have all of break to make these calls.”

“Ezra, we already decided,” Keisha said with gentle firmness. “It’s not like we have plans anyway, school got canceled and so did my dance classes. This’ll go faster with more people and then you’ll have more time to make sure all the books are in good condition.”

“Besides, it’d kind of like solving a mystery or something,” Rachel added. “It feels a little Nancy Drew.” 

It was clear they had no intention of letting him squirm out of this. They had decided to help him with this chore and they were going to do it no matter what. So be it then, at least they could use the time to chat as well.

Flipping idly through the yellow business pages of the directory, Ezra asked, “Keisha, my dear, how have things been going for you? It’s been so long since we properly caught up.” 

Keisha, who’s role today was to record and organize what the other’s discovered, paused in the middle of sorting her colored pens. With the endless ticking of Rachel’s keyboard as background, Keisha spoke about everything from her boyfriend (whom Aziraphale wasn’t certain he approved of) to the top dance schools she’d auditioned for (which he most certainly did approve of).

“Any of the schools would be great but if I could get into Julliard… I would die to get into Julliard.”

“Well, don’t do that, then you wouldn’t be able to attend,” Ezra teased. 

“Seriously though, Ez, I’m jealous that you already know where you’ll be going. I wish American schools didn’t wait to send out all their letters in the spring.”

“Well, things still depend on testing. My AP tests are being used in place of England’s A-levels, so I could still be turned away.”

“I doubt that. You’re so smart, you’d have to try to fail those,” Rachel assured him. He hoped she didn’t realize how right she was. “Have you found anything yet? I’ve found some used book stores, but it doesn’t look like any of them focus on rare stuff.”

In a flurry of pages, Aziraphale turned back to the work he’d been neglecting. He checked the index for antiquarian and found a few things. “I have a few leads here. Perhaps change what you’re searching?”

“Yeah, I guess, should I add ‘rare’ to my search? Would that make sense.”

“Yes. Give that a go.” 

An hour later, Aziraphale had exhausted the phone book, Rachel had run out of leads on the internet, and Keisha had completed their list. She had organized it by distance and then color coded for how likely they were to be interested in what Aziraphale had to sell. The three of them sat now, admiring the fruits of their labor.

“So, do you want to start calling them?” Keisha asked. 

“Oh, now that you’ve helped me with the list I can do that some other time.”

“We’re invested now, Ez. We want to see it through,” said Rachel.

“Yeah, plus if you get nervous or something one of us could take over,” Keisha added kindly.

She had often played protector for him in the years since they met, speaking back to bullies in middle school, helping navigate the social discomforts of high school, it was understandable she might doubt his sales acumen. She needn’t worry now though and he was going to prove it.

He took the phone that Rachel was holding out for him and turned to their list. _Calliope’s Books_ was just a few towns over. He’d start there.

The phone rang enough times after he dialed, that Aziraphale was ready to hang up and try another place. However, just as he began to lower his arm, a voice came over the line.

“Hello. _Calliope’s Books_. Can I help you?” It was a gruff voice, with a tone that implied no strong desire to offer any actual help. 

Aziraphale spoke with his own practiced politeness anyway. “Yes, thank you. I have a number of books that I’m looking to sell and I was wondering if you could give me an estimate? I understand, of course, that you’d need to see them in person before anything is finalized.”

“Fine,” said the voice. “What’s the list?”

So Aziraphale began, rattling off the names in his collection, their editions, their years, their publishers, their imperfections. He knew it all by heart, knew them each as a dear friend after hours spent ministering to their wounds. Keisha and Rachel looked at one another with awe and Aziraphale tried not feel too good about himself.

“You did repairs yourself?” asked the voice.

“Yes sir, but I assure you, I am a professional. My work is second to none.” Aziraphale had never been known for over confidence, and he was not displaying it now. He knew his capabilities and he would not undersell himself.

“Sure.” The shop owner did not sound convinced. This became even clearer when he offered his price.

“I’m sorry, but that is simply not what my collection is worth. Thank you for your time, but I am going to reach out to other sellers- sellers who know value when they see it.” He hung up the phone.

“Ezra, you know your shit!” Rachel said. “And you didn’t take anything from that guy. You were awesome!”

Keisha grabbed a pen, “What did he offer you? We’ll want to get everything we need to compare.”

They stayed at it for the rest of the afternoon, stopping only when Edith called to ask if Aziraphale was staying for dinner or would be home for Friday night pizza. A year ago, perhaps, he might have stayed. But Friday nights now came in a limited supply, and he hated to think of Anthony sitting by himself with all the adults. Besides, businesses would be closing soon and what was left of the list was small enough for Aziraphale to easily finish on his own.

Carefully folding the list and placing it into the pocket of his coat, Aziraphale turned to smile at the girls. “The two of you have been an absolute blessing. I’m not sure I would be able to get this all done in time for Anthony’s birthday if it weren’t for your help.”

Rachel hugged him. “Of course, Ez. We’re glad you actually let us help!”

“Yeah. I mean, even when we don’t see each other, I always know you’re there if I need you. It’s nice to be able to return the favor,” Keisha said. 

Aziraphale took her hands. “Your friendship alone has been enough, but thank you none the less. If I could wave my hands and get you into the school of your choice, I would. As it is, we’ll just have to hope they realized what a talent you are.”

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?” Rachel asked.

“No, I think a walk might do me some good after staring at paper all day, but thank you.”

The sun had set and it was cold beneath the street lights, but Aziraphale enjoyed himself. It was quiet, nothing but the sound of crunching snow and his own breath interrupted his thoughts. 

He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the work he’d done for decades, the careful care of books, the well-mannered thrill of haggling over them. Moreover, he’d forgotten these were skills that might be of use to him as a human. He’d spent so much time struggling to be a human child, he’d convinced himself he would struggle as a human adult. Now, he wasn’t so sure that was true.

But then, he’d managed to make himself a pair of lovely friends along the way, even if he’d never fully appreciated that until now. Perhaps he hadn’t been so bad at childhood as he’d thought.

As he neared the church, its steeple visible against the blue of the night sky, a sound broke the peace of early evening. Someone was whistling one of Gavroche’s parts from _Les Miserables_. He squinted into the darkness and saw the expected little form silhouetted in the moonlight, looking back at him.

“Ezra!” And then snow was flying through the air as Anthony hurried down the sidewalk, skidding to a halt before him. “I was just getting back from Ryan’s. You’ll never guess what happened; Ryan’s got a girlfriend!”

Looking into those excited golden eyes, listening to that melodic voice ramble, Aziraphale decided he would have spent the day calling book stores even if he’d hated it. After all, it would still have been worth it.

* * *

February break had passed with little event. The excitement had peaked early, with Violet’s show on that first Saturday. After that Tony had been forced to make his own entertainment, especially with Ezra’s book fixing project absorbing so much of his time. Still, it was nice to do nothing after the endless rush of school and rehearsal. There was music to listen to, instruments to play, action movies to watch. On one afternoon, when his mother was at work, he even snuck into her room to find that puberty book she’d given him years ago. 

He was only _mostly_ certain he didn’t have a crush on Violet, a little extra research might do some good. 

Still, Tony was unusually happy when break was over. He’d missed rehearsals, missed that extra time spent with Ezra. He was not called that Monday night, but he buckled himself in beside Ezra anyway. They could have been rehearsing the phone book and he would have wanted to join. 

“I’m glad you decided to come. You haven’t seen the scenes they’ll be practicing tonight, and I think you’ll find it interesting. It might be a bit rough though. I believe Mr. Velasquez expects everything to be sung through without scripts going forward. There’ll probably be a lot of calling for ‘line’ tonight.”

Tony studied Ezra’s calendar and cocked his head to the side. “It’s all the little Cosette stuff, right? So those two girls from my school will be there. They keep trying to talk to me in the hallway.”

“I hope you aren’t ignoring them!”

“I’m not. I just try to keep it short. I mean, we only saw each other once at the read through and they’re acting like we hang out all the time. I can’t have people thinking I hang out with sixth graders.”

“Ah, the endless navigation of social hierarchies,” Ezra said sagely. Tony rolled his eyes. 

When Ezra pulled into the school parking lot, they were both surprised to see Mr. Velasquez outside, pacing back and forth, cell phone pressed to his ear. As they approached, Tony tried to keep his feet quiet so that he could hear the conversation. 

“No, I mean, we’ll do what we can. If the kids have to practice a cappella or if they need to go back to just reading lines tonight, it won’t be the end of the world. Don’t worry about trying to get here, just do what you need to for the car and head home.”

There was a pause, Mr. V was clearly listening to someone on the other end of the line, but he smiled and waved when he saw the two boys. “I’ll see if there’s anyone in the chorus who can.” More silence. “Yeah, actually they just walked up.”

Ezra had his hand on the door already, polite enough to walk by without staying to eaves drop on the conversation. At the last comment, however, he paused and turned back.

Mr. V put his hand over the mouthpiece, “Tony, Mrs. Ferguson got into a bit of a fender bender and can’t make it tonight. She tells me you might be able to play accompaniment for rehearsal. Would you like to?”

Mrs. Ferguson had never actually heard him play piano. She’d only ever heard his voice and his lesser instruments, the violin and his notorious recorder. It seemed like quite a vote of confidence that she trusted him when he said piano was his best. 

He nodded, “Just give me a little while to look everything over and practice a bit.”

“That’s such a relief. Thanks, Tony.”

Before long, Tony found himself seated at the upright piano off stage left. It was not an impressive instrument, even by school standards. If they wanted that they’d need custodial help to transport one from the music department. This one sat unused most of the time, pressed up against the wall, surrounded by forgotten pieces of old sets. It had been freed just now, pushed out so that it’s sound could reverberate far enough to actually be heard. But that didn’t stop Tony’s view of the stage from being awkward and he couldn’t see Ezra at all.

This hadn’t been what he’d been expecting when he’d decided to come that night.

Still, he was eager for the challenge and more than a little proud that he’d been trusted with this. He looked over what was expected of him and practiced until Mr. Velasquez came in and greeted the cast.

“Okay everybody. Everything we’re doing tonight is something we’ve done before, the challenge is in getting it all to work together. You’ve all practiced the songs with Mrs. Ferguson, you’ve all run the blocking with me, it’s time to combine them. We’re going to be doing all the scenes that take place in the Thenardier’s inn, starting with our Little Cosette, going through ‘Master of the House’ with the whole chorus, and then the arrival of Valjean and the bargain with the Thenardiers. Let’s see how far we can get without stopping.”

It was during the first song that Tony should have realized it would not be an easy evening. He’d heard it before, of course, it was on the soundtrack, but he’d developed a tendency to skip it. He’d told himself it was because he found it boring, too simple, too repetitive. He’d been lying to himself.

The song, sung by the orphaned Cosette who suffered under the cruelty of her guardians, felt a bit too familiar. It sounded like times he didn’t want to remember.

“ _There is a castle on a cloud_

_I like to go there in my sleep_

_Aren’t any floors for me to sweep_

_Not in my castle on a cloud.”_

It helped to play the piano, to focus on a simple melody beneath his fingers, to pay a little less attention to the lyrics. It also helped that the actress wasn’t especially good. Her voice was clear and pretty, but there was little more to it than that. She looked sad, just regular sad, not miserable or frightened or empty. There was no wistfulness, no touch of brightness when the character escaped, however briefly, into her own imagination.

None of the feelings that would have made the song all the more familiar. 

They ran it twice, before moving on to the next scene, and Tony managed to hold himself together. The song that followed was funny and involved a lot more people. There were more mistakes made, more necessary restarts. The tension left, Tony let himself relax. He knew the soundtrack, the next song would be funny too. 

He’d forgotten the little interludes, the bits of connective tissue not included on his CD. He’d forgotten how differently something could hit with a melody behind it, compared to the flat reading of their first rehearsal.

He was not prepared for Valjean to stride on stage, Cosette clinging to his side.

_“I found her wandering in the wood_

_This little child, I found her trembling in the shadows_

_And I am here to help Cosette_

_And I will settle any debt you make think proper_

_I will pay what I must pay_

_To take Cosette away”_

Then the scene stopped and Tony didn’t know why. Mr. Velasquez called out from the auditorium. “Why’d you stop playing, Tony? Is everything alright?”

He hadn’t realized he wasn’t playing anymore. He’d been thinking about Ezra and community gardens and blueberry bushes. 

“I’m fine,” he called out, though his voice sounded thin and small. It didn’t shake though. He was glad it didn’t shake.

“Alright then, let’s take this scene from the top.” And then Tony had to play it again, had to sit there and listen while trying not to hear, ignoring the treacherous tear that found its way to the tip of his nose and dripped down onto the keys.

But he held it together, straight through another comedic villain song. He was fine. He wouldn’t cry at rehearsal, not in front of everybody, not with a whole inn’s worth of chorus members sitting in the audience. 

There was only a little bit more. They were coming up to the time skip and they weren’t running anything after that tonight. Tony just had to last until Valjean took Cosette away.

“ _Come Cosette, come my dear_

_From now on I will always be here_

_Where I go, you will be._ ”

_“Will there be castles and children to see?”_

_“Yes, Cosette. Yes it’s true_

_There’s a castle just waiting for you.”_

Tony was in the wings. There wasn’t anyone who could see him. If he could get away, just get away before he sobbed loud enough for them to hear…

He stood up from the bench and rushed to the stage door, throwing himself through to the darkened hallway beyond. Alone at last, he sunk to the ground and burst into tears, the sort that made your shoulders shake and made it difficult to breathe.

This was stupid. He was being stupid. They’d all have heard the door slam. They’d all know he left. They’d be in there trying to figure it out, wondering where he’d gone, wondering what was wrong with him, and all because he couldn’t handle a story where he already knew what was going to happen. Couldn’t handle thinking about things he’d already talked about endlessly with Dr. Amanda.

The stage door opened and Tony froze, not daring to look up. He didn’t want to know who’d seen him in his shame.

“Oh, my dear, was it a bit too close to home?”

Tony raised his face. The friendly shadow of Ezra stood over him, exuding care and sympathy. Tony sniffed and nodded. Ezra knelt down, taking Tony in his arms, stroking his hair, murmuring words of comfort. “There, there, my dear, it’s going to be alright. Just let it out, there’s a good boy.”

It would have been easy to close his eyes, to melt into the older boy’s arms and let Ezra care for him the way he always had, but something in Ezra’s words made Tony refrain. He was talking the same way he had when Tony was small, the way he had when he’d found Tony lost and hungry and alone. He was acting as if nothing had changed. 

But _everything_ had changed, Tony more than all the rest. He wasn’t alone anymore, wasn’t forgotten, wasn’t a baby. He didn’t need to be treated like this. It wasn’t that he wanted Ezra to leave or that he couldn’t do with a hug, but the way Ezra looked at him, like he was still a lost child in need of protection, Tony couldn’t stand that. 

This wasn’t what he wanted from Ezra anymore.

Tony pulled back, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, and straightened his spine. “Thanks Ezra, but I’m alright now. Was just being a little dramatic.”

“Are you sure, dear? It’s completely understandable if it’s too much. Do you want to go home? I’m sure they can run it through without music if they need to.”

“I’m gonna hear it all again no matter what since I enter soon after that last bit. I might as well hear it again tonight, so I don’t start turning it into a _thing_. You know get back on the bike and stuff.”

“I think the metaphorical transportation you’re looking for is a horse.” There was teasing in that voice and that, more than all the gentle murmuring, made Tony’s heart jump back from its misery. That was how Ezra talked to an equal. That was how Tony wanted Ezra to talk to him.

“Yeah well, whatever it is, I ought to do it. Besides, I probably shouldn’t have bottled it up so much. If I just let myself cry a little at the sad parts, it wouldn’t have all burst out at the same time.” There, that was years of therapy doing some good work. Tony stood up. “I mean, the show’s supposed to be a tear jerker, right? Just means we’re doing a good job.”

Ezra had not yet risen. Despite the shadows, Tony could make out his brow creasing. “That’s… that’s very mature of you.”

“Well, I _am_ almost thirteen.” He grinned, holding out a hand to help Ezra to his feet. The older boy’s grasp was soft and warm, and somehow felt different when he wasn’t leading Tony around like a child. “Come on, let’s see if they’re waiting for me.”

They were, it turned out. Mr. Velasquez had given everyone a chance to grab their water bottles and take a bit of a break. It was embarrassing to know they’d all see him, red eyed and puffy faced. He could just sit back at the piano, send Ezra out to tell Mr. Velasquez it was alright. But then Ezra would look at him that way again, and Tony didn’t want that.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Tony shook out his nerves and strode out on stage. “Sorry, Mr. V I got a little overwhelmed. I’m alright though, if you want to run it through one more time.”

“That’s okay, Tony. We can do it with the CD or something, if we need to,” Mr. Velasquez said, earnest concern etched in every line of his face.

“Nah. I’m good. Just, you know, I guess they called it the miserables for a reason.” He gave a self-deprecating little laugh. 

“Alright. One more time.”

And they did. Once more straight through stringing it all together, without any stopping even when there were little errors. Tony cried again, but not enough to interrupt his playing. It felt a little good, actually, now that he wasn’t trying to stop himself. He just needed a moment in the wings to wipe his eyes after Mr. Velasquez had sent the cast home. 

They were gone when he came out, everyone but Ezra and their director. Mr. Velasquez, who’d been willing to let it go when everyone else was there, now spoke again. “Tony, would you tell me what’s going on? I want to make sure you’re comfortable here, as much as any of the older kids.”

Ezra was watching, worried, which meant Tony’s only choice was to be mature about things. “What’s Ezra ever told you about how we met?”

He could see Mr. Velasquez casting back through years of conversation. Tony knew full well that Ezra had confided in his teacher before, during both the recorder and karaoke incidents at the very least. He could imagine Mr. Velasquez asking why he was so worried about his neighbor. He could imagine Ezra going into too much detail.

Then there it was, dawning understanding on the teacher’s face followed by a moment of horror. “Oh God, Tony, I’m sorry. I should have realized. I should’ve kept an eye on you. I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugged. “ ‘s’fine. I don’t think it’ll bother me that much again. You don’t gotta worry about it.”

“Still, is there anything I can do?” Tony shook his head and Mr. Velasquez laughed nervously, “The English teacher in me wants to get you a journal or something at the very least, tell you to express your feelings.”

“That might help,” Ezra chimed in. “Do you think that would help, Anthony?”

“Ugh. You’re the only two people in the world who think extra homework would make anything better.”

Now Mr. Velasquez’s laugh was full, the anxious tinge to it gone. His face lit up, “Actually, I’ve got an idea, something a little more your speed. If you two could wait here, just a second, I’ve got to go steal something.”

Then Mr. Velasquez sprang up the stage steps and disappeared into the hallway beyond.

“You think he was a weird kid, or do you think being a teacher messed him up a little?”

“That’s not kind. He’s the sort of person who cares. You can’t expect him to see you in distress and simply let it go, no matter how many times you insist it’s alright.”

Tony had been referring to Mr. V’s bizarre exit, not the questions he’d asked before. Somehow though, he didn’t really think Ezra was talking about Mr. V at all. Ezra was twisting his hands together, unsure what to do with them now that Tony didn’t need comfort. Perhaps he ought to say something back, but Tony couldn’t think of anything. Luckily Mr. V returned before the silence became oppressive.

“Got this out of one of the music classrooms. I’m sure Mrs. Ferguson won’t mind, providing that was actually her room. Here. It’s yours.” 

Tony stared at the black notebook. “I don’t want a journal.”

“It’s not a- Listen, just take it. Would you?”

He did, rolling his eyes, until he properly read the cover. Not quite believing his eyes, he flipped it open and peered inside. “It’s sheet music!”

“I think it’s just staff paper right now. You’ve got to write something on it to make it sheet music.” Mr. V smiled at him, “I’m not sure if that’ll sooth your soul or not, but at the very least I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Thanks!” Tony said. “Thanks a lot!”

He could think of nothing else as he and Ezra walked out. Nothing mattered but all those wonderful blank pages waiting to be filled with whatever he cared to put there. He did not think about the memories that had haunted him earlier that evening and he did not notice the thoughtful way that Ezra watched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s songs: 
> 
> Castle on a cloud-https://youtu.be/glnoF9LKfKw
> 
> And This one but really starting around the 4:40 mark- https://youtu.be/Bxiu1b1_6BI


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings today, just birthdays and bookstores.

Aziraphale stood by Elijah’s car, peering over one heavy box of newly refurbished books, as the pastor loaded the other into the back. “This will take a few hours at the very least. I could drive myself; I would hate to put you out.”

“I really don’t mind, buddy. It’s been a while since we got to spend some time together, just the two of us. Besides, I’m not really comfortable with the idea of you meeting one on one with some guy whose phone number you found on the internet.”

“It’s a legitimate business,” Aziraphale insisted.

“Run out of some guy’s house?”

“It’s a home business then. Still legitimate.”

“Legitimate or no, I’d like to go with you.” Elijah paused, keys hovering by the door. “I don’t have to drive though. You can if you want.”

Aziraphale appreciated the offer, but decided against it. “I think we’ll both be better off if I play the navigator. The only times I’ve ever seen you and mother get into a proper row is when you’ve got the map on a car trip.”

Elijah laughed, “Fair enough! Come on, if we hit the road now, we might be able to get off the highway before rush hour.”

After hours spent on the phone, going through the lists he’d made with the girls, Aziraphale had found a promising collector. He had no traditional store front, listed his wares online and met only by appointment, but he’d offered the best possible price. These business practices intrigued Aziraphale – they were a good way to limit his own business hours even further.

It oughtn’t be too far either, which was a relief. Aziraphale had warned Mr. Velasquez that he might be late, had told Maddy that she might need to take Anthony to rehearsal, but he was hoping that wouldn’t be true. He shuffled through the directions that he’d printed off the internet and chose the proper one to read to Elijah. The rest were just a ruse. He planned to carry them into his meeting, to make it clear that there were other offers on the table.

There weren’t, at least none so serious that he’d made appointments for them.

The ride passed in relative ease, no navigational distress, just pleasant- if not particularly deep, conversation and bit of classical music on the radio. Before long they’d made their way to the proper neighborhood and located what ought to be the house.

“Are you sure this is it, bud?”

“I think so. Do you see that little staircase, the one that leads up to a room above the garage? That’s where he said to go.”

“Alright then, let’s do this.” They got out of the car, each took a box, and they made their way up the wrought iron stair. There was no doorbell here and, with no hand free, Aziraphale was forced to kick the door to make himself known.

The door opened shortly thereafter, revealing a professorial looking man with a disinterested gaze. He looked Aziraphale and Elijah up and down then gestured with his head for them to come inside. The room beyond was carefully lit and clean to the point of sterility. Although there were a few book cases placed against the walls, it hardly seemed like enough.

“Do you keep the rest of your collection elsewhere?”

The man raised an eyebrow, “I’m quick about finding buyers for resale.”

This was ridiculous. What was the point of buying and selling antiquarian books if you weren’t going to do at least a little hoarding?

“Going by your voice, are you the one I spoke to on the phone?”

“Yes…” said Aziraphale cautiously.

“I didn’t realize you were so young.” He turned to Elijah “Is he your apprentice or something?”

Aziraphale should have planned for this, should have discussed every possibility in the car. He tried not to wince when Elijah said, “Nope. I’m just helping to carry stuff today. He knows way more about all of this than I do.”

It was sweet, really, Elijah sounded almost proud. The problem was the salesman, who’d just realized he was dealing with an amateur and a boy. Cutting a deal was about to get more difficult.

“Put the boxes up here, please.” They did as he asked and Aziraphale watched as the man picked through, looking at pages, publication dates, spines. He clearly knew what he was doing but other than that, his thoughts were a mystery. The man had an excellent poker face.

When he was done, he shook his head. “They’re not in the shape I was hoping for. I wish you’d left the repair work up to professionals, you’ve done some real damage here.”

Aziraphale arched a brow. The man was full of shit.

Unperturbed by the glare, he continued. “Listen, I’ll be nice. I can give you five hundred for the whole collection.”

“Five- the Twain alone is worth twice that and you know it!”

“Maybe, if it was in better condition but-”

“Whatever you are planning to say, sir, I suggest you hold your tongue. That is some of the finest restoration work in the English speaking world.”

“Got a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“In this case, yes, because I’m correct. Did you agree to meet with me to do business or play the part of petty conman?” He stood, back perfectly straight even as the man leaned into his space.

“I don’t need these books. If you want to try and find a better price somewhere, be my guest.”

Aziraphale pulled the sheaf of directions from his back pocket and made a show of choosing among them. “I have a number of other offers, none of them so poor as the one you’ve made. Could you help me with the boxes, Father? Thank you for your time sir, but we’ll get out of your hair. It’s clear my business isn’t wanted here.”

Box in tow, he strode out the door, Elijah close on his heels. With each step he expected the man to call him back, and with each step he was sure the man expected him to give up and turn around. But neither of them did what was expected and soon Aziraphale and Elijah were sitting in the car again with two boxes of books and no money.

“Ezra, that was amazing! I had no idea you could be such a hardnosed businessman.”

It was nice to hear Elijah be proud of him for a skill Aziraphale actually valued in himself, those two things so rarely aligned, but it wasn’t enough to raise his deflated spirits.

“Fat lot of good being hardnosed did me. I haven’t got the options I was pretending to, not if I want to get the money to Maddy before Friday. I haven’t made any other appointments.” Perhaps he ought to go back in, ought to grovel and take what he could get. _Something_ would get Anthony more than he was getting now. A middling guitar would do him better than a cheap one. It might not be enough to win him back but-

“Buddy, hey, are you alright? Where you going on me?”

Aziraphale blinked. He’d been anxiously twisting the printed directions in his hands. He had not ripped them yet, but they’d formed a sort of log of paper and stress. Aziraphale let out a long, purposeful, sigh.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking about having to go back in there.”

“Why would you have to go back? Let’s go home and you can call some of these other places. Tony doesn’t have to get his present _on_ his birthday. If it takes a little while he can wait.”

Elijah’s smile was soft and supportive; he’d always done his best parenting when Aziraphale was distressed. That didn’t make him right, however. “It _has_ to be his birthday. It’s his thirteenth. He’s becoming a teenager, officially, and that matters to him very much. Besides, I won’t be here for his birthday next year. Not if… Not when I go to university in London. And I… I need to do this.”

He didn’t look up but, in his peripheral vision, he could see Elijah watching him, thoughtful. The pastor adjusted himself in his seat, so that he could pull his cellphone from his pocket and hold it out. “Are any of those print outs from places with actual store fronts? Places that might be open today?”

“Only one and it’s _miles_ away. It would be a waste of our time to-”

“Call ahead. See if they’ll take any books today and then we’ll go wherever we need to.”

Aziraphale objected, “It would be hours, round trip. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Of course you could.” Eijah pressed the phone into Aziraphale’s hand. “Now call.”

He did. The woman on the other end happily told him they were still open and she’d gladly see what he had to sell. Then he called Edith to tell her they would not make it home for dinner and Mr. Velasquez to say he _would_ in fact be missing rehearsal that evening.

The book store in question was in northern Connecticut, away from the national arteries connecting Boston to New York and away from the major population centers that had grown up besides the highway. It would be a long drive and Aziraphale was ready to settle back into some surface level conversation and classical music, however Elijah had other plans.

As soon as Aziraphale had finished his third call, the pastor asked, “Is something wrong between you and Tony?”

This was the way so many of their big conversations went, sitting side by side so that words could flow without the hurdle of eye contact. Aziraphale wondered why it always happened this way? Had Elijah read in some parenting book that this was how to get teenagers to open up?

Either way, Aziraphale was going to try and skirt the conversation. “Why ever would you say that?”

“Just the way you were talking before. Saying you have to do this. That and I haven’t heard him call you ‘angel’ in a while.”

Another sigh. “He’s decided that he’s too old for that.”

“And you’re not happy about it.” Elijah could be very observant for a man who’d somehow missed how spectacularly gay his son was. Perhaps he had a bit of a blind spot there.

“Well, it’s just that… It’s not that I don’t think he likes me anymore, but I don’t think he _needs_ me. Not like he used to. He became very upset at rehearsal on Monday night and when I went to comfort him… I sort of thought we’d be back there for hours until he calmed down, only it didn’t take very long at all. And it wasn’t even as though he seemed cagey or like he was suppressing something. He told me that he needed to try again and just let himself cry through the sad scenes because he oughtn’t be bottling everything up.”

“Sounds like he’s really putting some of those strategies from Dr. Amanda into use. That seems pretty healthy to me.”

“I know. It was. He didn’t need me. He doesn’t want me hugging him or holding his hand. I feel like he’s pushing me away.” Aziraphale had not intended to say all that. There might be a stroke of truth to whatever parenting book had suggested car talks.

“Well, it’s like you said, buddy, he’s becoming a teenager. He might not exactly _look_ it just yet, but he is. He’s going to want to handle things by himself and he’ll push away from the adults in his life.”

“But I’m not… that,” Aziraphale said.

“I know, but you do act that way sometimes, particularly when you’re worried about him. I mean, with your specific age difference it makes sense that you could view him as both a little kid who needs taking care of and a friend worth spending time with. I think we’ve just hit the point where you have to let that first part go. It doesn’t mean the rest of it will change. If he thinks you see him as a peer, he probably won’t push away so much. You’ve just go to make sure you don’t worry to the point that you do _more_ of what he doesn’t want.”

So much of the way Aziraphale had separated Anthony and Crowley in his mind had hinged on defining Anthony as a child, that he wasn’t sure it would be so easy to just let that piece go. But Elijah seemed to be speaking with the wisdom of a dozen parenting books and a hundred faith based family counseling meetings. What he was saying made sense and Aziraphale felt that, to some extent, he’d already known it and been in denial.

“I suppose I know what you mean. Perhaps that’s why I’m so keen on helping him get that guitar. Last year for his birthday I made him that same hat and scarf I gave him when he was five. This gift sends a better message, I think.”

“That’s fair. And, let me tell you something. Someday, when you think he really doesn’t need you at all anymore, maybe he’ll surprise you by letting you drive him to an obscure book shop in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ah ha. Very nice,” Aziraphale said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I thought so,” said Elijah, without so much as a hint of it. 

The drive was long, but not unenjoyable. In a different season, when things were alive and growing, parts of it might even have been beautiful. The population was smaller in the north of the state, leaving more space for trees and fields. As they drew close, Aziraphale turned back to his directions, guiding Elijah down twilight roads. At the end of their journey was a small farm house and the large barn that stood beside it. The barn had been painted white some time ago and then left to peal over the years, in a way that Aziraphale decided must have been an aesthetic choice. That was the only explanation that fit with the warm light shining from the windows and the freshly painted sign above the door which read ‘Laurel Farms: Used and Antique Books’.

“I didn’t realize the farm moniker was so literal,” said Aziraphale.

“I mean, I guess if you’re not going to keep livestock anymore it’s not a bad way to use the space.” Elijah shrugged as he turned off the car. “Should we grab the books and head inside?”

“I suppose…” He was having trouble with the idea of books kept in a barn. It seemed wrong, an inherently unsafe place for such precious treasures. But they’d driven well out of their way and he was short on time and desperate for money; Aziraphale could not be picky now.

He changed his tune entirely the moment they pushed open the door.

This. This was a proper bookshop. There were bookshelves everywhere. They lined the walls, they made aisles in the center of the shop, they were up in the loft area looking down at everything. There were books in baskets and vertical stacks, all labeled with lovingly handmade signs. Whatever draftiness he might have expected had been successfully combatted by a good builder and well-chosen heating system. It was comfortable here, without being too warm for the books.

There was even a proper book shop cat, flicking its tail from the very top of a nearby shelf.

“I guess this is what you’d imagine heaven to look like, huh?”

“If only they’d let me redecorate, yes.”

Aside from the cat, there was no one to be seen, so Aziraphale led the way through the narrow aisles. There had to be a counter with a register somewhere. It was a good thing his arms were full or Aziraphale would have been distracted every moment, tempted by the books on all sides. So far they’d passed nothing he’d have considered an antique, but that didn’t stop the spines from catching his interest. There was a joy in walking past five copies of the same book, all with different covers from different eras of printing. He could have stood and studied each one if he’d had the time, but he’d wasted enough of that already. Aziraphale pushed onward.

Eventually they found her, a small woman, her hair thrown up in a messy bun, seated on a stool behind a counter at the back of the barn. She was too caught up in whatever she was reading to notice them at first, which was exactly the kind of poor service Aziraphale felt belonged in a book shop. He immediately decided that he’d accept whatever she offered. His books would be happy here.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She jumped, then laughed at herself. “Oh, you must be the guy who called. I stayed open a little later for you and then forgot to keep an eye out! Do you have the books with you?”

She was looking at Elijah who shook his head, “This is actually your man.”

“Oh? Really? That’s awesome. Well, then, can _you_ show me what you got then?”

“Of course.” He and Elijah placed the boxes on the counter and he took them out one by one so that she could get a proper look. She had all sorts of questions. She wanted to know their stories, not the ones within the pages, but the ones belonging to the books themselves. Where had he gotten them? What state had they been in? What sort of people had loved them in their past lives?

“Do you usually sell antiques here? I noticed most of the books seemed a bit more recent.”

“I’ve got a special section for the antiques. See those glass cases over there?” She gestured absent mindedly, her attention on inspecting the tome before her.

He did see them now, four handsomely carved cases with locked glass doors. Good, people would see them there, but wouldn’t be able to touch them with their grubby fingers unless they showed legitimate interest.

“This is some amazing repair work you’ve done. If you weren’t so young I’d think you’d been doing it for years.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale.

“It’s a good collection. I wish there were a few more first editions, but considering where you picked everything up, I suppose that’s asking for a lot. I ran to the bank after I got your call, so the money’s on hand.” She pulled an envelope out from beneath the cash register and began to count bills out on the counter. “Will that do?”

There was enough for whatever guitar Anthony wanted and whole lot extra besides. The boy could get picks and stands and straps and amplifiers and whatever else his little heart desired. “This is wonderful. We’ve got a deal then?”

“We’ve got a deal.” She shook his hand and slid the money across to him. “And if you’ve got anything else to sell, keep me in mind.”

“I will. Thank you. Thank you so much.” He took the money, enjoying the wide eyed looked on Elijah’s face as he tucked it into his pocket.

The pastor didn’t speak again until they were back out in the car. “I had _no_ idea how much that other guy was trying to undersell you. I had no idea you could make that kind of money selling books.”

“Well, they’re antiques, at least by American standards. The, er … family shop back in London has much older pieces in its collection. You can make tens of thousands of pounds off of just one book, if it’s the right one. Even something more modern can be worth far more. For example if I’d had a first edition of one of those Twain books, it could have been double what I got for the whole collection. More again if it were signed.”

Elijah whistled. “I’m impressed. And Ez, give Maddy what she needs to get the present, but keep the rest for yourself.”

“I-”

“I know you probably want to give all of it to her. Strike that, not probably, definitely. But, money can be a touchy subject. You don’t want to make her feel bad about needing it. Besides, you’re going to need money for food and books and all sorts of stuff next year. Keep it.”

Aziraphale decided he would follow that advice. It would always be good to have something on hand so that he could get Anthony a good gift next year too.

* * *

It was, without exception, the nicest thing that Tony had ever owned. He sat, in the back seat of his mother’s car, holding his precious new electric guitar in his lap simply staring at it. He had not been entirely surprised when his mother came to pick him up from school that afternoon and told him she was taking him to pick out an instrument. He’d hinted for months, practically begged for one, and she knew well enough that it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you bought for someone else without their input.

What _had_ surprised him was when they arrived at Guitar Center and she’d told the salesman that they weren’t looking for a low end beginner’s guitar. Tony could pick whatever he wanted. He hadn’t believed her at first and even when she made it clear that she was telling the truth he only moved up to the mid-end guitars. He knew they were saving for a house and that she was trying to keep him in the same stupid, expensive, school district. Tony didn’t want to waste her money and he didn’t want to embarrass her by making her take a lot of money from the Clarks.

Then she’d said, “ _Whatever_ you want, Tony. Ezra won’t forgive me if I give him half the money back.”

“Where’d Ezra get that kind of cash?”

“Ask him when we get home, kiddo. And don’t look so surprised, it’s not like you didn’t take him on a fricking _European vacation_ last year.”

Without a thought Tony answered, “Yeah but he’s perfect. He deserved it.”

“If you ask him I bet he’d say the same thing about you. Now go, let this guy help you find something worth thanking Ezra over.”

So Tony had. And now he was the proud owner of his very own, professional level, American Standard, shiny, black, Fender Stratocaster. He still wasn’t quite sure he deserved it. He’d heard himself play on Violet’s guitar and on the one belonging to Mikey’s brother; he didn’t have the feel for electric yet, didn’t know how to hold himself, was only just big enough for the full sized instrument before him.

But he’d learn. He’d work on it until he was worthy of the gift Ezra and his mother had gotten him. He’d make both of them proud.

“I thought getting you an electric guitar would mean more noise, not less. Are you just sitting in awe back there?” Maddy called over her shoulder.

“Yeah…” Tony murmured. His mother laughed.

When they arrived home, Tony very carefully put the guitar away into its new case. He’d wanted a gig bag, but his mother had decided to take away his freedom of choice on that front. She’d seen the way he lugged the acoustic all over the place, he ought to have something that would provide some actual protection. It didn’t look as cool, to Tony’s eyes, too awkward and rectangular to sling affectedly over his shoulder. Still, its large plastic surface was begging for the edgiest stickers Hot Topic had to offer. He could work with this.

He carried it carefully toward the Clark’s home, where his birthday dinner would be taking place, trying both to keep an eye on it and look where he was going at the same time. His mother followed with the other odds and ends they’d purchased-picks, a strap that still needed to be attached, a few cables for an amp he could only assume he’d be getting later that evening.

It was like a dream, the greatest birthday already and there hadn’t even been cake yet. He was a teenager with an electric guitar, already a thousand times cooler than he’d been twenty-four hours ago.

When he entered the Clark’s home, before he even made his way through the foyer, he could see Ezra through the glass interior door, sitting benignly on the couch with a book in his hands. It was a good thing Maddy had insisted on the hardbody case. It meant Tony could put it down safely, toss his coat on top of it, kick off his shoes, and swing the door open.

He had recently been making a very big deal about personal space and age appropriate nicknames. None of this stopped him from throwing himself on the couch by Ezra’s side, wrapping his arm around the older boy, and saying, repeatedly, “Thank you, angel. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“I take it you’ve got your gift, then?” Ezra said with a delighted chuckle.

Tony looked up at him to answer but the words didn’t make it out of his mouth. The height difference between them wasn’t quite as exaggerated when they were both sitting down. It made Tony realize just how close they were. It made him feel strange and a little too warm.

Perhaps the Clarks ought to turn down the thermostat now that spring was getting closer.

“Anthony?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah. Yeah! I got it. You wanna see?” Excitement overtook whatever was bothering him and he hurried back into the foyer, where his mother made him hang up his coat before he could grab the guitar and return to Ezra’s side.

Ezra was suitably impressed as was Edith, when she appeared out of the kitchen, and Elijah when he came home with two large pizzas. The next two hours passed in pleasant celebration of everything Tony. There weren’t many gifts, but that seemed more than fair given the value of what he had been given. Besides there was still a cake, curtesy of Edith, decorated all over with music notes in colorful icing.

And when all of that was done, the pizza, the singing, the cards, the unwrapping of the amp, Ezra came back to the church for a sleep over. They’d be sleeping in the sanctuary again, this time not to practice, but so that Tony could play his new guitar as late as he pleased without keeping his mother up. Ezra would not be so lucky.

To his surprise, however, Ezra didn’t seem to mind. He sat, quite contentedly, in the nest of blankets he’d made on the floor, and watched as Tony adjusted to the new instrument. It would be easier to play, he thought, after he got used to it, but just now he struggled to adjust knobs and figure out how best to hold his fingers. Still, Ezra smiled at him, apparently proud just to see him try.

Tony tried not to look at him too much; it made him self-conscious about how he was performing. Still, every time he glanced up, there was Ezra. He sat with the overhead lights of the church beaming down on him, catching in his white-gold hair and illuminating the rounded features of his face. Even dressed in pajamas and wrapped in blankets, he looked as much like an angel as he had on the night Tony had first seen him. Ezra noticed him watching and his smile widened. Tony fumbled his fingering.

He put the guitar down. Perhaps it would be better to practice some other time.

“Are you stopping already? I thought you’d be at it until the wee hours of the morning,” Ezra teased as Tony snuggled himself into his own sleeping bag and blanket pile.

“I’m still getting used to the strings and stuff,” Tony said, which was true but also not an answer to the question. He changed the subject, “Thanks again for getting it for me. I can’t wait to show it off to people. It’s even nicer than the one that Violet has, I think.”

“If you plan on bringing it to rehearsal, just make sure you don’t miss an entrance when you’re putting on a show back stage.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “I won’t. Besides, I was thinking of bringing it to maybe like the cast party or something instead. I’ll be good at it by then, I think, and you won’t have to worry about me causing problems back stage, Mr. Stage Manager.”

“I wasn’t worried about- Honestly, when we get to full length rehearsals or even just act one rehearsals, you and Violet will have plenty of time backstage together when you won’t have to worry about making an appearance. Neither of you are on stage before the big time skip. If you get bored and want to go play rock and roll music in a nearby classroom, it wouldn’t be unreasonable. It’s not as though you’re going to want to watch the start of the show every time.”

“ ‘Course I will!” Tony objected.

Ezra seemed taken aback, “Why would you?”

“That’s the part with you in it, stupid,” Tony told him. “I still haven’t gotten to hear you sing your part at all. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ezra looked pleased and avoided Tony’s eye, “I’d thought you weren’t interested because you hadn’t asked to go to those rehearsals with me.”

“I thought you might be more nervous if I was there. Your part might be short, but it’s not exactly easy. You got that real low note right at the end, if they haven’t rewritten it at all.” He looked up curiously, wondering if Ezra would be embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t hit it.

Ezra raised his chin proudly, “It might not sound quite as good as the main cast, but I can hit my low note about as well as any of the one off characters can hit what they have to sing. We haven’t had to adjust it at all.”

Tony’s smile wrinkled his nose. “Sing it.”

“What?”

“I wanna hear it. Sing it for me.”

Ezra’s face was always interesting to watch when he was thinking. Every feeling about every thought that came through his mind would flit across his features for just a moment. Now he looked proud, now bashful, now hesitant, tempted, curious, embarrassed. It was like a roulette wheel, with no certainty about where he might land. Eventually, despite the red in his cheeks, Ezra said, “All right, but I’ll need to stand up or I’ll never hit it properly.”

So he stood, blankets cascading from his shoulders. He stood in his blue tartan pajamas, closing his eyes as he tried to get himself into character. Tony didn’t imagine he’d have to try very hard.

After a few false starts interrupted by his own laughter, Ezra managed a proper breath and began.

“ _And remember this my brother,_

_See in this some higher plan,_

_You must use this precious silver,_

_To become an honest man._

_By the witness of the martyrs_

_By the passion and the blood_

_God has raise out of darkness_

_I have bought your soul for God.”_

Tony shivered. The final note, so much lower than the others, seemed almost odd coming out of his friend. Ezra had always been the bigger kid out of the two of them, but for the first time Tony realized that kid might not even be the right way to describe his friend anymore. Part of Tony found that frustrating, the other part wanted to hear Ezra sing that again.

“Well? How did I do?”

“Oh. Great, Ezra. You were amazing! I didn’t know you could do that.”

Ezra sat down again, pulling the blankets around him once more. Somehow, in the resettling, Ezra had drawn in closer. Tony wished he’d come just a little bit nearer so they could snuggle like they had when they were little, then his ears felt hot and he wanted Ezra to move across the room.

“I’m glad you think so.” It took Tony a moment to remember what Ezra was responding to. Those thirty seconds felt so long ago. “You know, I think this is going to be the best show we’ve put on in the four years I’ve been at the school. It will certainly be the strongest musically and in this case, the music carries enough emotional weight that we could fumble the acting and still be alright. Even if we were doing a terrible job though, it would still be my favorite. I’ve really enjoyed having you there with me. Have you been having fun ]?”

“Yeah. I’m glad it’s not just you going to rehearsal all the time and me being stuck at home. Even when you’re busy doing stage manager stuff, it’s fun being there. I like the other kids a lot. Pete’s alright and Rachel’s not so bad when she’s there for some of the chorus scenes and I really like working with Violet too.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” Ezra was teasing. Normally, between the two of them, when they teased it was always with words. Suddenly, however, Tony wanted to do what he would with his friends at school. Maybe it was because he’d been trying so hard to make Ezra see him as a peer, maybe it was because he was a little more annoyed than he was admitting to himself, or perhaps it was because he’d shut down every other excuse for physical contact. No matter what the reason, Tony shoved him.

Ezra didn’t act like Mikey would, he blinked in mildly offended confusion. In what was an objectively stupid idea, Tony tried again, this time making it more of a body check.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know…” Tony felt very small and young and stupid. “Rough housing?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” His tone implied defiance, his body language implied that he’d like to sink into his blanket pile and never be seen from again. “That’s what I do with my other friends if they tease me.”

“I didn’t enjoy boyhood tomfoolery when I was in middle school and I’m not looking to start now.”

Tony didn’t have to check to know that Ezra was looking down at him with disappointment, an adult lecturing a child. It had always bothered Tony when he did that, but tonight it felt like someone had twisted the knife.

“Sorry. I shoulda known you’d hate that kind of stuff.” There, hopefully that would be the end of this.

But then Ezra reached out to brush the bangs out of Tony’s face. Tony jumped back from the slight touch, as though Ezra’s fingers were something hot. He raised his eyes and saw Ezra blinking at him in surprise.

“I- I’m sorry. I was just going to apologize myself for teasing in the first place. Now I’m afraid I’ve made it worse.”

“ ‘snothing,” Tony mumbled. “Just caught me off guard is all.”

“Well, still, I’ll apologize for the teasing. It seems Violet is a bit of a sore subject. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”

It was another uncomfortable topic but it was far preferable to sitting around awkwardly thinking about why things kept feeling so strange with Ezra tonight. Tony jumped to it like a life raft.

“It’s not that I mind talking about her or nothing, I just don’t know what to do when people keep acting like I’ve got a crush on her. Your dad it and Mikey did it. I don’t know how they can think that when I’m not even sure if it’s true or not. How can they know if I’ve got a crush when I don’t even know what one is supposed to feel like?”

Ezra’s hand came up, aiming for Tony’s bangs again, and then fell back down like a dead fish. “You’re right, no one should be making those guesses for you. You’re the only one who can decide what it is that you’re feeling.”

“But how am I supposed to decide when I don’t even know what I’m looking for?” This had been bothering him all month. He’d sat and stewed on it and come to no conclusions. He looked up at Ezra and thought of something for the first time. “Have you ever had a crush on anybody?”

Ezra’s eyes went very wide and looked everywhere but at Tony before he finally answered, “Yes.”

Who? Tony wondered. Who could it possibly be? That kid from camp maybe? The one Ezra had written to off and on for a year or so afterward. Or maybe it was someone at school or in the cast? Maybe there was someone he liked right now?

Quieting the rest of his questions, Tony asked, “What was it like?”

Ezra was slow to answer. “I’m not exactly certain what to tell you, because I’m not certain that it’s always the same. I can say that I had one when I was about your age, although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask about the details…”

“I won’t,” Tony promised.

“Well, to talk just about the feelings then… I was a bit infatuated. I kept finding myself tongue tied and distracted. My imagination kept running off with me. It was very annoying and quite embarrassing even though I don’t think anyone else knew. It was only something silly though, an impossibility that was really rather unappealing when I added any bit of realism to the matter. Is that how you feel about her?”

Tony didn’t have to think about it for much time at all. “No. I tried imagining kissing her once but, even when I imagined myself as an eighteen year old, it still seemed weird. The only thing I’ve daydreamed about with her is getting to be in her band.”

“Then I think that probably answers that question!” Ezra said with a laugh. His sobered almost immediately and said, “I find myself almost relieved. It’s been, odd, thinking about you being old enough to have a crush. It makes me realize just how much is changing. Someday soon you’ll be all grown-up, perhaps finding someone you’ll want to live out the rest of your life with. It won’t just be the two of us anymore.”

The words seemed so heavy when Ezra said them, as though they had a completely different weight than when Tony had complained about sharing him with his friends. He looked so sad and resigned about it, which didn’t seem fair considering what he’d implied earlier.

“You said the crush you had when you were about my age, that means you had more than one. How were those different?”

Ezra opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking useless. “Well, I… I suppose I did imply that. It was only just one other time.”

“So? Was that one different?”

There was a long silence before the answer came. “The crush I described before was a simple infatuation. There wasn’t any real emotion behind it, nothing solid enough to build even an imaginary relationship.”

He stopped talking. Tony wasn’t having it. “What about the other one?”

“I’m getting to that… I also had a, well I don’t know if crush is the right word, I had feelings for someone I knew well- someone I already considered a friend. In some ways it wasn’t all that different than what I described before. I had moments where I’d get flustered or lost in my own imagination. But it was odd, because so often it was easy to be with them, to talk with them for hours, to forget the rest of the world. It was wonderful just to be in their presence, even though we sometimes annoyed each other. Often I could forget it was anything beside a deep and true friendship and then something would happen. They’d stand closer than usual or laugh in just the right way or go out of their way to do something just because they cared about me, and I’d find myself flustered and enamored all over again.”

It was what’s-his-name, the church camp boy, it had to be. There weren’t any other boys Ezra had ever been really good friends with. Although, they hadn’t written letters all too long, and Tony could still remember Ezra rejecting the kid... Maybe Ezra just hadn’t been ready for anyone to know how he felt.

“Well, you don’t gotta worry. I definitely don’t feel _that_ way about Violet.”

Ezra gave him a melancholy smile. “I didn’t think you did. But, even if I’ll miss it just being the two of us, I do hope… I hope that… if that’s something you want… I hope, when you’re older, that you find someone to feel that way about. That sort of love is part of the life I’d wish for you.”

For a moment, Ezra looked sad in a way that didn’t make sense. He looked the way that Tony had only ever seen from old people when they came to the church for christenings, weddings, and funerals, like he’d seen the world long enough to accept that he couldn’t have everything forever, but was still sad to see things go.

Then Ezra shook himself all over and forced himself to laugh. “Look at me being an absolute sap over nothing. Here I am crying at a wedding that hasn’t even happened yet when you’ve just come to the realization that you haven’t got a crush at all. I’m quite ridiculous, aren’t I?”

“You’re not ridiculous.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say.” Ezra’s smile turned warm and Tony’s heart clenched. “This is a birthday and a sleep over and we ought to be having a good time. I think a bit of mischief might be in order. Why don’t I sneak up to the apartment and get us a few slices of cake? Cake at midnight is just what this situation calls for. What do you say?”

Tony didn’t say anything, but he might have nodded.

“Wonderful. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail and we’ll have ourselves a contraband treat.” He bustled out of the room, leaving Tony alone in the sanctuary, lost in his own thoughts. 

If what Ezra had described was true, if a crush could mean feeling very happy and content with somebody one moment, and like your heart was doing back flips because they smiled at you the next, then he’d been very wrong about at least one other thing tonight. He’d said Tony had realized he hadn’t got any crushes at all, but that wasn’t true. Tony had realized he hadn’t got a crush on _Violet_.

But, about thirty seconds ago, he’d realized that he very much had a crush on _Ezra_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this counts as a slow burn yet, but the pilot light on the stove is working again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go full song fic right at the end, so apologies if that's not your thing. I cut it out after next chapter, promise.

Tony had to be wrong. It didn’t make any sense that you could know someone half your entire life and then just suddenly have a crush on them. It was impossible. He was probably just too keyed up from his birthday and all the excitement over his new guitar. That and how often he’d been worrying about crushes lately had put him in the mind frame for it. That was all.

He had himself properly convinced for approximately five minutes. Then Ezra walked back into the room with two plates of cake and his stomach did a funny sort of flip.

“Here we go. A little poor decision making while we’re still young enough to recover from it. This one’s for you, dear.”

Tony had lost the ability to make words, but he was pretty certain he’d pulled off something resembling a nod. The cake, which he’d enjoyed a few hours earlier, tasted like cardboard now. He ate it mechanically, more interested in watching Ezra. Had he always made those little noises when he enjoyed something? Tony could feel himself going red in the face.

Maybe he didn’t have a crush. Maybe he was just coming down with something.

There was one test he hadn’t tried yet, the same one that had convinced him he wasn’t interested in Violet. He imagined himself grown up, the way he looked in his dreams sometimes, all tall and cool and confident. He’d be taller than Ezra even, tall enough that when they stood really close Ezra would have to look up at him instead of the other way around. Ezra’d blush, probably, and look away like he did when someone complimented him. But Tony would lift his chin up and lean in even closer and-

Tony choked on his cake.

“Oh, dear! Anthony are you alright?” Then Ezra was touching him, well, thumping him on the back but it was more than enough to make Tony’s heart race. He swallowed hard, clearing the cake from his throat and stopping his spluttering coughs. He looked up at Ezra, hoping that the dim lighting covered how red his cheeks were and how wide his eyes had gotten. No such luck. “You poor thing. I shouldn’t have encouraged you to eat so much at this hour. You’ve had such a big day, you must be utterly exhausted. Here, let me take the dishes and you can curl up and go right to sleep. Unless you’d like me to get you a glass of water first?”

Tony shook his head and did as he was told. The only escape was into his blankets. He pulled them up over his head and there, in that private darkness, he began to freak out.

This was awful. He was going to ruin everything. Somehow, at some point, he’d gone from loving Ezra to being in love with Ezra and he hadn’t even noticed when it happened. It had to have been recently, when the doting hugs and hand holding had started to feel different. Just thinking about the way he’d hugged Ezra earlier that evening made his stomach turn to knots. He could never, ever, do that again because Ezra could never know how he felt.

It was clear from his tone, from the way he clucked over Tony, that Ezra didn’t really care that he’d just turned thirteen. To him, Tony was still just his little friend, and probably always would be.

* * *

Tony tossed and turned throughout the night. His waking moments were haunted by Ezra’s gentle breathing. His sleep was haunted by nightmares where he kept shrinking until Ezra couldn’t even see him anymore. When the sun rose up, casting its cruel morning light through the church’s stained glass windows, Tony squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bury himself beneath his blankets.

“Come on, you two. I know it’s early, but you’ve got to get up. There’s a chorus rehearsal this afternoon and a committee meeting this morning; you can’t hang out in the sanctuary all day. Just grab your stuff. I’ve got eggos waiting for you upstairs.”

“Oh, good morning, Maddy.” Ezra’s voice was thick with exhaustion and the sound of it made Tony’s eyes spring open. He remembered, all at once, why he’d slept so poorly last night. “I’m afraid we stayed up later than we ought. Come on, Anthony, we need to get up.”

Through the blankets, Ezra put a hand on Tony’s shoulder and shook him gently. Tony, face still thankfully concealed, grunted and rolled away to escape. He was going to die from discomfort if that slight contact went on for even a second longer. Then he lay still and hoped that everyone would go away.

He got half his wish. “Go on and grab some breakfast, Ez. I’ll get him up.”

“Are you certain. You’ve got to leave for work soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’ve still got time. I’ll just make sure he gets upstairs before I leave. If he wants to go back to bed after that, it’s fine.” There was a pause. She was probably looking Ezra over, “You look pretty tired yourself. You might want to head home and get some actual sleep.”

“I’ll probably do that, actually. You’ll wish him a happy birthday again for me if I don’t see him before I leave, won’t you.”

“Of course, Ez. Go eat.”

There was rustling as Ezra gathered his blankets and bags and picked up the abandoned cake plates from last night. Despite his mother’s gentle prodding, Tony did not inch out of his sleeping bag until Ezra was gone. He’d been planning to act tired when he sat up, but found he didn’t need to. He actually was.

“Partied too hard, huh, kiddo?”

In Ezra’s absence, Tony found his voice again. “I guess.”

“Well, help me clean everything up and then you can go back to sleep in an actual bed, okay? I’ll get your blankets and stuff if you go grab the guitar and amp.”

He nodded. It was nice to have basic directions to follow. It meant he didn’t have to think as much.

When he returned to his mother’s side, the handle of the small amp in one hand, the guitar case in the other, she was looking down at him curiously. “Is everything okay?”

He squirmed, “ ‘m tired.”

“I know, I get that. But I just sort of thought you’d still be really excited about the guitar. I didn’t think there was a kind of exhausted where you wouldn’t still be freaking out about it.”

What would she do if he told her? Probably have one of those stupid, serious, kitchen table conversations and be late for work. She’d tell him Ezra was way too old, as though he wasn’t already painfully aware of that. Or worse, she’d think it was cute. Just imagining that made him want to sink into the floor.

Talking about his feelings was the absolute last thing he wanted to do right now, so he lied. “I _am_ excited. I’m just really, really, really tired.”

“Alright, let’s get you back to bed then.” She led him from the sanctuary and up through the church’s halls toward their apartment. They found Ezra still inside, washing up his breakfast dishes before taking his leave.

Despite his own exhaustion, Ezra lit up when he turned and saw Tony. “Good morning, Anthony. I’m glad I got to see you before I left. I do hope you had a happy birthday.”

Why did he have to smile like that, like he’d swallowed the whole sun and it was shining out of his skin? Tony nodded and made a sort of grunt in the back of his throat.

Ezra looked at him like he was sleepy toddler. “You really do need some rest, don’t you, dear? Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll be out of the house soon enough.”

It was the perfect excuse for an exit. Tony dodged into his room and buried himself under the cover of his bed, refusing to come out until he heard Ezra leave for home and his mother leave for work. Only then did he have the whole apartment to panic in.

He climbed out of bed to pace the floor, wishing he had a pet or something that he could talk to. As it was, he had only himself and his mother’s house plants. He turned his anxiety towards them and found that oddly comforting.

“So if I can’t tell him then what am I supposed to do about it, huh? Do I just wait for it to go away? That happens with crushes right? Ezra said he had one that went away.” His mother’s fern stared back at him. “I mean, yeah, that was the one he said was just, like, infatuation or whatever. He didn’t say anything about his crush on the guy he was friends with ending. He just seemed kind of sad about that one…”

He sank down onto the couch and stared gloomily at the lily in the corner. “Maybe it won’t ever go away. Maybe I won’t ever even be able to talk to him again and I’ll ruin our friendship and he won’t even know why and he’ll hate me forever! I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him last night. All I did was grunt and hope he’d pretend it meant something. I can’t do that forever. I can’t!”

The lily’s flower seemed to pity him.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll just talk to Mom about it. I can’t do that! I know she’ll get on my case about it. Not because I like a boy or anything just because Ezra’s like practically eighteen and…” Tony trailed off. He hadn’t even considered that. “Wait… does this mean I’m gay or something?”

It was a realization that should probably not have come twelve hours on the heels of the first, but somehow the prospect of liking Ezra specifically had blocked out any concern over the prospect of liking boys in general.

He became very still, staring blankly at the flower as he tried to decide how he felt about this new discovery. He felt, on some level, as though the proper thing to do would be to freak out about it. He’d seen the very special episodes of _Degrassi_ , he knew how people talked about it on the news, he remembered the conversation he’d had with his mother with absolute clarity. His life had just become a lot more difficult. And yet…

Tony wasn’t bothered. He had spent the last four years knowing Ezra was gay, knowing Ezra’s life was harder because of it, knowing Ezra had to keep secrets. He’d spent the last four years telling Mikey to shut up when he used ‘gay’ as an insult and keeping a wary eye on the Clarks and carrying a chip on his shoulder for Ezra’s sake. What did it matter if he was in the same boat now? The thought of Ezra’s suffering was far worse than the thought of his own. After all, Ezra was gentle and needed to be protected. Tony could take care of himself.

Besides all that, he was utterly certain that the two people who mattered most to him, his mother and Ezra, would love him just the same. And that put the problem back to where it had been ten minutes ago. He had a wicked crush on Ezra and couldn’t do anything about it.

Still, he did have questions about the whole gay thing, questions that were easier to fathom than the pain of unrequited love. He scurried into his room and dug that puberty book his mother had given him out from under his bed.

There were lots of nice pictures of different types of couples and different types of families, and the book assured him that it was perfectly normal to have a crush on someone of the same sex. It even said that he wasn’t necessarily not going to be attracted to girls too.

Although, when trying to picture that, Tony found it difficult to imagine liking anyone as much as he liked Ezra. He’d felt that way even when he was little, when the crush hadn’t even been part of the equation.

Vaguely curious, and feeling as though somehow someone must be watching him, Tony flipped toward the back of the book where they actually talked about _doing it_. He’d looked at the puberty stuff plenty of times and the bits about crushes and attraction recently, but he hadn’t looked at _the section in the back._ It had a detailed description of how straight couples _did it_ , but they’d left out directions for stuff that didn’t make babies.

Tony was a little relieved. He wasn’t sure he was ready to even think about that stuff just yet. He was still turning red thinking about how he’d hugged Ezra yesterday.

Still, he’d need to know it all someday. He’d probably have to figure out some way to ask his mom without her getting suspicious. She knew him too well, and he was certain she’d guess about the Ezra crush straight away. He’d have to get a handle on himself before he let her in on the gay bit and that might take some time. But that was alright, it wasn’t like he needed to know anything soon. He just needed to ask her before he was grown up, when he could actually date someone seriously or get married in Canada or something.

Tony sat up and stared, stunned, at a blank section of wall. For the first time since last night, the swirl of anxiety that had hung over him dissipated. A grin spread, very slowly, across his face until it reached from ear to ear. When he was an adult he wouldn’t be able to just date _anybody_ seriously. If he could just wait until he was an adult, until four years and four months wasn’t such a big deal anymore, then he could date Ezra.

All he had to do was pretend everything was normal for another six or seven years!

The smile faded.

All he had to do was pretend everything was normal for another six or seven years.

* * *

Tony had managed to keep up the ruse. He got through the rest of the weekend without revealing so much as a hint of crushing. Of course, he did this mainly be avoiding Ezra, but still he was succeeding. Things became a little more difficult on Monday evening when Tony had to get into the car, just the two of them, to drive to rehearsal.

“I’m glad to finally get to see you, dear. Did you spend the whole weekend holed up in your room practicing your new guitar?” Ezra said, as though calling someone dear like that wasn’t some sort of war crime.

“Yeah, mostly. Except when mom made me stop for church. She said everyone would be able to hear me playing so I couldn’t just skip.” It was surprisingly easy to speak.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much. Could you check the schedule? We’re only doing the first half of the barricade, correct? Up until Eponine’s death?”

“I think so,” Tony pulled out the schedule anyway, marveling at how his hands didn’t shake. “Yeah, you got it. When do you think they’ll start building the set and everything? It’s kind of confusing to pretend like there’s a barricade and a turntable when it’s just some boxes and tape on the floor.”

“I know Mr. Velasquez wants to get things built as soon as possible, but he’s got to argue with the music department to do so, since they also make use of the auditorium. There’s a lot of school staff politics going on behind the scenes, I believe.”

“Huh, I never would have thought of that.” It was bizarre how easy it was talk. He could open his mouth and just answer questions without his feelings leaping out to ruin everything. He hadn’t expected this.

It was good though. He liked talking to Ezra. He was happiest when he was talking to Ezra. He didn’t think he could have gone without it for another six years.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so awful after all.

The auditorium was already busy when they arrived, buzzing with rebel students and select girls from the chorus who’d been chosen to join them at the barricade. Tony strolled, pleased to be more comfortable than he’d expected. He greeted his cast mates happily, waving and calling out individual names.

It was as though realizing that he could still belong with Ezra made him feel as though he belonged absolutely everywhere. He happily settled into his customary seat beside the older boy and waited for rehearsal to begin.

Before long, Mr. Velasquez climbed up on stage. “Alright everyone, good to see you’re all here on time, even Violet.”

“You know it, Mr. V,” she called from the seats. Tony laughed along with everyone else.

“Right, so tonight we’ll be running this whole section through with singing and proper entrances. It’s alright if you want to stay in the audience if you’re off stage for a while, but you need to go out the side doors and enter from back stage if that’s the case. No one should be using the side steps while we’re actually rehearsing. Mrs. Ferguson is on the piano backstage and will be acting as our accompaniment tonight. She’ll also have singing notes for you all at the end. As to my own notes, I want to remind everyone that you need to still be acting even when you’re not the focus. I don’t want to watch Eponine die again while everyone else on stage looks like they’re thinking about what homework is due tomorrow, alright?”

“What if we are thinking about what homework is due tomorrow?”

“Then I want you to, get this, _act_ like you’re not thinking about that. I know that’s shocking. Alright, everyone, let’s get started.”

Tony, as was common for his character, spent much of the evening’s first scene running all over the stage, weaving in and out of revolutionaries as they pretended to build a structure that the crew had not yet constructed. The scene was brief, however, and Tony and the barricade chorus of revolutionaries had to quickly make their way off stage so that Violet could go deliver a message and sing her big number.

The last time they’d run it, they’d messed it up repeatedly and spent over half an hour practicing what would only be about two minutes of the show. Tonight, however, they all milled around without stumbling into one another, and the singers hit their spots in clear view of the auditorium. The pieces fit together and, with the exception of a slight bottleneck exiting into the wings, it all went smoothly.

Tony’s mood, already buoyed by the realization that he could still hold a conversation with Ezra, climbed even higher. He spent the time before his next scene chattering happily with Rachel about nothing in particular in the hallway behind the stage. By the time he swaggered back on for his favorite solo, he was in the highest spirits a street urchin could muster.

He eyed Pete with suspicion as he lied to the rebels, then popped dramatically out from behind a crate and shouted “Liar!”

Tony could have gone for more chances to shout ‘liar’ in his real life. It was fun. It was also fun to call someone out for their secret identity as a police inspector while everyone watched you sing.

With his best cocky grin, Tony continued, climbing up from chair to table, until he was eye to eye with lanky Pete.

“ _And little people know_

_When little people fight._

_We may look easy pickin’s_

_But we’ve got some bite!_

_So never kick a dog, because he’s just a pup._

_We’ll fight like twenty armies and we won’t give up_

_So you’d better run for cover when the pup grows up!”_

There was a joy in nailing something perfectly for the first time. He’d never done a bad job of it before, but tonight the blocking, the music, the feeling of it all was exactly as it should be- at least for his big moment. As the scene went on he lost it slightly, finding himself in too good a mood to react properly when Violet stumbled onto stage and died dramatically in the arms of the boy who’d never loved her back.

Sure, it was a really sad song, but it was hard to just look kind of concerned in the background for a whole couple minutes when all Tony could think about was how great a job he’d just done.

When Violet was dead enough to stop singing, Mr. Velasquez called everyone back on stage. “Not bad, guys! That was definitely smoother than I’d hoped. You’ve really got the movement down on that first part. I know it can be hard when there’s so many bodies on stage at once. I want to give a few specific notes and then we’ll take a ten minute break and run it one more time, ‘kay?”

Tony waited as Mr. Velasquez spoke to other actors, trying not to stare too hard at Ezra still sitting in the front row. He was bent over his script, adjusting the notes he’d written as their director spoke. His hair was always beautiful under overhead lights, even the nasty fluorescent ones at school. Tony should have touched those curls more back when it wouldn’t have meant anything. Now it would just be weird.

“TONY!”

“What?” He jumped and turned to Mr. Velasquez. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“That was a ‘getting your attention’ yell, not a ‘you’re in trouble’ yell. Did you not hear me the first few times I said your name?”

“Sorry. I zoned out.” Tony flushed and hoped that no one would ever guess what he’d been thinking about. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he’d been starting to hope.

“Well, now that I have your attention: you did a great job with ‘Little People’. Just the whole section was fantastic. Well done.” Mr. Velasquez paused to let him take the compliment in. “I would like to see a little more from you when Eponine is dying. As ‘the kid’ in that scene, you should have a less stoic reaction than everyone around you. I don’t want you drawing focus, but if someone looks over at you, they should see a little more. Do you think you could do a little fake crying?”

“I could try,” Tony told him honestly. He wasn’t actually sure if he could. He’d never been the sort of kid to try and get what he wanted by pretending to be upset. When he was really little, his father would only get angry when he cried and, when he was a bit older, he’d taken too much pride in his manipulations to try something so simple. Thinking about it, he wasn’t exactly sure what he did with his face when he was crying.

He should have paid attention to that when he was weeping at that one rehearsal.

“Okay, ten minute break and then I want you all back here.”

The cast scattered to the bathrooms and vending machines out in the hallway, Mrs. Ferguson left the backstage piano to speak with Mr. Velasquez, and Tony hopped down to join Ezra. Before he could even fish for compliments, Ezra looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“You really did a wonderful job, Anthony.” Then Ezra was hugging him and Tony completely froze. It was like something in his mind was short circuiting. The last time they had hugged had been on Friday, before _the realization_. It all felt very different now. He was too aware of everything, the way Ezra smelled and how soft his cheek was pressed against Tony’s hair. He could not hug back, he couldn’t say anything. All he could do was grow an increasingly impressive shade of red.

“Ngk,” said Tony.

Ezra pulled back and then looked horrified. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry! I’ve gone and embarrassed you again.”

“ ‘salright.” Tony managed.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve asked me to be less demonstrative and I need to do a better job of respecting that.” He really did look ashamed of himself, lashes cast down across his cheeks, his brow furrowed. Tony was caught between a desire to reach out to comfort him and the desire to go hide between the theater seats. “I’ve got to remind myself that you’re not just a sweet, little boy any more. You’re growing up too.”

Tony had spent the weekend wallowing in the fear that he would never be able to speak to Ezra again. He’d spent the last hour convincing himself that everything was alright, that it would be easy to ignore his feelings after all. Now he swung wildly back to previous worries. He was flustered and fluttery, uncertain and uncomfortable. He ought to be saying something or doing something, but all he could think of was the phrase ‘sweet, little boy’. It played on repeat in his mind, like some sort of droning curse.

Through concerted effort he managed to formulate a response, “As long as you’re trying, it’s alright.”

“That’s very understanding of you. I promise I’ll do better.” Ezra was looking at him so warmly that Tony’s throat went dry.

“I’m, uh, I need water. Before we start again. You know, because the singing.”

“Don’t let me keep you then, dear.”

Tony nodded, took a few steps back, and then turned and fled from the auditorium. He wanted to find somewhere to be alone, somewhere he could do some thinking and get his head on straight. Unfortunately, there were plenty of chorus members out in the hallway and a short line at the water fountain. He was forced to wait, biting his lip and bobbing on his feet, the words ‘sweet, little boy’ still ringing through his mind.

“You alright, kid?” He turned to see Violet.

“ ‘mfine.”

“You sure? You look kind of, I don’t know, flushed.” Even when she was concerned, there was a disinterested, too cool, edge to her voice. Just now, Tony found it calming.

“I just need some water, is all.”

“If you say so,” she said with a shrug. He thought she might leave then, but instead she raised her voice to the students ahead of him in line. “Let the kid cut before he passes out!”

The line parted like the Red Sea. The rest of the cast never seemed to quite know what to do with Violet who, despite being quite an impressive performer, did not fit the ‘theater kid’ mold. It worked for Tony though. He eagerly hurried ahead to get his sip.

Violet was still waiting when he was done. “Feeling better?”

“A little.” Now that he actually had one, it was easy to tell that he’d never had a crush on her. Still, she was older, cooler, and very much worth looking up to. He wished he knew her well enough to ask her advice. Instead, he asked, “Do you like your character?”

“Eponine? I mean, yeah. It’s a really good part. I have one of the most famous songs in the show and I get to die of bullet wounds on stage. What’s not to like?”

“No, I mean, like do you like her as a character not just as a part. Like, does she make sense to you and stuff?” He was following her down the hall now, back towards the auditorium door. She wasn’t particularly tall for a senior, but he was still having difficulty keeping up.

She stopped and squinted at him, “You’ve lost me, kid. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

The problem was that Tony wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting at either. It was only that, her character had never seemed very interesting to him before. In a play full of rebels, thieves, and war, she spent an awful lot of time just being upset that the boy she liked never noticed her. Last week he’d thought that was kind of dumb; this week he wasn’t so sure.

“I just… she seems awful hung up on that Marius guy. He’s fine and all, but he’s not that great.”

Violet shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like you always get to choose who you fall for. Besides, he mostly treats her like a friend and equal even though she’s lower class and a girl and it’s like a billion years ago. I figure if you come from a shitty situation like she does and someone finally shows you kindness, it makes sense to love that person even if they don’t love you back the same way. That’s how I think of it when I’m acting, anyway. And I do like that she does, you know, whatever she can to make sure he’s happy without guilt tripping him or anything. It’s not his fault he’s not in love with her. He’s a little oblivious sure, but he can’t pick who he loves either.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about all that.”

“There’s no reason you would’ve. You don’t have to play her.” Violet opened the door to the auditorium and gestured inside with a jerk of her head. “Come on, I think we’re starting soon.”

She was right. Before long they were all up on stage and Tony was running all over the place again. When that first, short scene was over, however, he didn’t exit through the stage doors to stand in the back hall with the rest of the cast. He stayed in the wings, leaning against Mrs. Ferguson’s piano so that he could watch Violet do her solo.

First she delivered a message, a letter from the boy she loved to the girl he loved. Tony wondered if he would do that, if he could put aside his own feelings to make someone happy. Thinking of Ezra, he couldn’t imagine _not_ doing that.

Message delivered, Violet took to the center of the stage.

_“And now I’m all alone again_

_Nowhere to turn, no one to go to_

_Without home, without a friend_

_Without a face to say hello to_

_But now the night is near_

_And I can make-believe he’s here.”_

There would be more movement when they’d built the turn table. She’d be able to walk without going anywhere. But she didn’t need to do more than sing. Now that he was listening to them, the words alone were powerful enough. She found her joy in the mere idea of him. Found peace in pretending he was by her side. In the other scenes, when they talked, they bantered as friends and he saw her as nothing else. The romance existed only when she stood alone.

_“I love him_

_But when the night is over_

_He is gone_

_The river’s just a river_

_Without him, the world around me changes_

_The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.”_

At some point, Tony had started crying. He set a part of his mind to observing the way it felt, so he could store that information away for when he had to act it later, but the rest of him was busy coming to a painful conclusion.

_“I love him_

_But every day I’m learning_

_All my life I’ve only been pretending_

_Without me, his world will go on turning_

_A world that’s full of happiness that I have never known.”_

He’d been wrong to worry that he’d never be able to talk to Ezra again- of course he would, but he’d been wrong to think it would all be easy too. He would still have his friend, their conversations, their jokes, the type of love they’d always had. But Ezra would not see what Tony saw, not for years and years if ever. Tony would have to accept the joy he could find in the relationship they had. The agony and wonder of the rest of it, he’d have to keep to himself.

_“I love him_

_I love him_

_I love him…_

_But only on my own…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Tony got to sing in today's chapter: https://youtu.be/TLQr-Rc-dCI?t=180
> 
> The song Tony got to FEEL in today's chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjfmP7h3gBw


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one and the swan song of song ficishness.
> 
> Do I need to put a trigger warning for fiction within fiction? If so, child death I guess, but only in rehearsal for a play.
> 
> And cultural note for the non- theater people among you: Saying 'Macbeth' in a theater is supposed to be bad luck.

April 2004

There was a month left to go before Aziraphale’s Advanced Placement exams and he had yet to make up his mind about whether to fail them or not. Every time he decided against it, something would happen that would convince him that he could not leave. A string of days would pass in which Anthony would seem perfectly well adjusted and then, for no reason that Aziraphale could discern, he’d become flustered and distant.

It had happened again last night. They had been baking together, after the Friday night pizza had been enjoyed, Anthony chattering happily about a song he’d finally gotten to sound right on his new guitar. Everything had been perfect straight through until they were washing the dishes.

Anthony had splashed him. Aziraphale had returned fire. It had been jolly fun; the two of them had been laughing until they were both soaked through and then suddenly, Anthony’s face had changed. He’d looked at Aziraphale as though… Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Whatever it was, his eyes had darted away and he’d mumbled about going home to change and probably heading to bed early. Then he’d gone.

Now Aziraphale sat at the breakfast table, anxiously picking at the remaining crumbs from his morning toast and worrying about the rest of his day.

“You alright there, bud?” Elijah asked over his newspaper.

“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking about today. It’s going to be very busy.”

Edith frowned “I thought you were excited about helping with the set?”

“I am! It’s just…” He bit his lip and then decided there was no reason to remain silent. “Anthony’s been so odd lately. I can’t quite figure him out. It’s only more of the same thing that I’ve discussed with Father before. Everything will be lovely and then all at once he seems to pull away from me. Perhaps it’s ridiculous, but I’m worried something is wrong.”

Both parental figures looked at him softly. Elijah spoke, “It’s his age, buddy. It’s like I told you. He’s trying to carve out a new, independent identity and he probably can’t quite figure how you fit into that because you’re not quite a grown up to him and not quite a peer. On top of that, he’s at the right age for mood swings. You weren’t in your early teens that long ago, bud. I’m sure you can remember.”

“If it’s all normal, I’ll try not to worry.”

“But you can always talk to us if something’s bothering you,” Edith assured him. Aziraphale gave a quick smile, and hoped that would serve as an answer.

But half an hour later, after the breakfast dishes were cleared, as Aziraphale walked over to the Jay’s apartment he found himself worrying again. If this were all normal there had to be some way to confirm it, some way to tell whether Anthony was in desperate need of space to spread his metaphorical wings or if he needed Aziraphale now more than ever. He needed to do a better job of observing before the month was up, or he might miss his chance to make the right choice.

He met Maddy at the apartment door, dressed in her work clothes with car keys in her hands. “Hey, I didn’t think I’d see you before I left. Are you guys going to hit the road already?”

“Soon. We’re supposed to meet at the school in a little over an hour, but I’d like to be early and I wanted to make sure Anthony was ready to go. I know he’s been sleeping in lately.”

“Fair. He is up this morning though. I haven’t seen him yet because he never came out for breakfast but I keep hearing guitar noises. Can you make sure he grabs something to eat before you two leave?”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale said and her face relaxed.

“Bye, Tony. Love you!” She called out.

A muffled reply came through the bedroom door. “Bye.”

“Bye what?”

“Bye. I love you too.”

She gave Aziraphale a wink and then headed out the door, leaving him alone in the main room of the apartment. It wasn’t clear if Anthony had realized there was anyone else there, which made Aziraphale feel a bit like an intruder. He cleared his throat loudly, shuffled his feet, and knocked on Anthony’s door. “It’s me, dear. My I come in?”

“Oh, uh, Ezra! I’ll, um, I’ll be out in a second. I gotta get dressed and stuff.” There was a great deal of shuffling, the slamming of dresser drawers, and then the door swung open to reveal Anthony clothed for the day. He stood in his mess of a room, pajamas on the floor, bed unmade, doing his best to make his hair neat and tidy.

“Would you like some help cleaning up?” Aziraphale asked, moving in before he received an answer.

“No.” And Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks. “It’s fine. I like it like this.”

Between the two of them, Aziraphale had always been messier than Crowley. He _could_ be neat of course, had been in the past ten years out of respect for the Clarks’ home, but he’d never minded a bit of clutter. Crowley had been the one drawn to clean lines and minimalist architecture. But then, that had always been, in some part, out of a desire to play the role of trendy human. Perhaps Elijah was right about Anthony trying to figure out who he was as a teenager and having a properly messy room was a part of that. 

“Well, then I won’t pick up so much as a sock,” said Aziraphale. He sat on the edge of Anthony’s bed to wait while he finished getting ready. He was currently looking for a pair of shoes that had been lost amongst the chaos.

Wanting anything but to come across as judgmental, Aziraphale did his best not to watch. He glanced around instead, at all the items in the crowded, little room. Between the bed, dresser, record player, and both the acoustic and electric guitars, there was hardly any floor space left. It was no wonder Maddy was eager to find a new place. Anthony was outgrowing the apartment.

He’d be going into high school in a couple years. He ought to have room for his clothing, instruments and a bit of other furniture besides. He had no desk to do his work at. Pencils and an open journal were strewn across the bed spread. Aziraphale wondered what work he’d been doing so early on a Saturday morning.

He squinted at the upside down pages before realizing what he was actually looking at. “It’s the staff paper. Have you been writing a song?”

Anthony, now in one shoe, dove onto the bed, throwing himself on top of the notebook as though it might explode.

“Don’t look at it!”

“I gathered that from the full body shield you’ve created. I won’t look if you don’t want me to, but I’d love to hear anything you’d be willing to share.”

Anthony closed the notebook then jammed it underneath his mattress. He looked up at Aziraphale, his face wretched. “You didn’t… You didn’t read any of it, did you? I thought I’d closed it. Please say you didn’t read any of it!”

“I didn’t read any of it. And I can’t read music that quickly anyway.”

“I wasn’t worried about the music, though it’s trash so I’m glad you didn’t see that either, I thought you might have seen the lyrics.”

“Oh, you’re writing lyrics too!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “I had no idea you were a poet. That’s wonderful!”

The boy had become quite red and was tugging at the fringe of his hair as though he might be able to hide himself behind it. “Just… just forget it, okay? Please?”

“Alright. Consider it forgotten,” Aziraphale lied. Nothing, not even Anthony’s sudden withdrawal, could make him forget that Anthony was writing songs. The idea pleased him to no end. There were many things about Anthony’s life that Aziraphale did not look forward to Crowley learning about: his father for one, the growing up in the church, Hastur’s interference. Even some of the good things might make the demon squirm. How he’d react to having had a mother remained very much a mystery. But he was certain that Crowley would be happy to know that he’d spent his teenage years writing rock and roll music, and that alone cheered Aziraphale.

He needed the cheering as Anthony refused to speak in more than monosyllables through his breakfast and the entire car ride to the school. Aziraphale began to think he ought to fail the tests again.

When they pulled into Westwich High’s parking lot, however, Anthony broke out of his surly stupor. “He brought Manny!”

Aziraphale followed his gaze. Mr. Velasquez stood outside the school, talking to one of the custodians while holding a squirming toddler in his arms. Manuel Velasquez was a favorite of the cast, even though most of them had only ever met him in passing. He had been born when the current crop of seniors were freshmen, and they had watched him grow from baby to boy through the photographs on Mr. Velasquez’s desk.

Anthony had come to like the stories about him too and was absolutely thrilled to see him here.

Mr. Velasquez seemed a bit less thrilled. As they crossed the school grounds the director’s face became clearer. The man looked utterly exhausted. There were circles below his eyes, his hair- much shorter than it had been four years ago- was nonetheless frazzled, and he didn’t seem to notice that his son’s hand was squeezing his nose.

He could not have looked more relieved to see Aziraphale if he’d descended from heaven in pure angelic form. “Thank God. The kids from crew should be arriving any second with all the stuff they need to set up the revolving stage, and the cast members should be arriving to help after that, but the custodian says we don’t have permission to get into the school and he needs to make some calls. Can you help me get everyone organized out here?”

“Of course. I’m sure we can start the unloading and get some of the smaller parts built before we go inside. It will all work out.”

Manny decided now was a good time tug on his father’s ear. “Papa, ‘m hungry.”

“I should have never talked to Pete about his English homework on Thursday!” Mr. Velasquez shouted toward the sky.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, unable to parse the nonsequitur.

“He’s in eleventh grade. They’re studying the Scottish play and I said the name while we were in the theater. Now my wife has the flu, we can’t get into the school, I left Manny’s crackers at home, and everything is falling apart.”

“It’s not as bad as that, Mr.V. We won’t starve; Ezra made cookies,” Tony said. He smiled up at the smaller boy “You like cookies, Manny?”

Manny nodded. Aziraphale reached into the bag of baked good goods and pulled one out. Manny took it in his chubby fingers and happily popped it into his mouth.

“You know, I probably won’t be much help with the set building and stuff, since I’m too small to carry anything and I doubt you’re going to trust me with nails,” Tony began. “But I can watch Manny for you. Little kids like me.”

Mr. Velasquez glanced at Aziraphale, who gave a small nod of affirmation. He turned to his son, “You want to play with Tony?”

The child glanced down, nose wrinkled as he studied the strange red-haired boy who was watching him. Anthony stuck his tongue out and made a truly horrible face. This was, apparently, the right course of action. Manny clapped his hands.

Mr. Velasquez put his son down so that Anthony could take his hand. “Why don’t you two go hang out in the shade over there until we can get into the school. Make sure you stay there where I can see you. And thank you, Tony, this is a huge help.”

Pleased to be trusted, Anthony grinned. As he led the child away, Aziraphale could already hear him making up stories and the sound of Manny giggling.

“Was it _Hello Dolly!_ when I first met him, right after Manny was born?” Mr. Velasquez asked as they watched the boys walk away.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, he was with me when I ran into you at the mall the one time. Although, I do believe you were making purchases for Manny’s arrival.”

“Right! Right. It’s crazy how much they’ve grown up since then. I’m used to Freshmen becoming Seniors, but god, middle and preschool are a whole other story. This is why I keep crying during ‘Bringing Him Home’.”

“Just wait until you do a production of _Fiddler_ and have to sit through ‘Sunrise, Sunset’,” Aziraphale joked, although he wasn’t fully paying attention to the conversation.

He only distantly heard Mr. Velasquez respond with, “Or 'Chavaleh'.” He was too busy watching Anthony. There was no awkward withdrawal now, no stuttering or discomfort. He was at home, he was mature, he was completely capable of taking care of another human life.

Aziraphale did not have long to muse on this, however, as cars began to pull into the parking lot and the busy day quickly began. They were scheduled to be at the school straight through from ten in the morning to six at night. The morning would be spent assembling the two largest pieces of the set, the stage revolve and the barricade. The stage crew had done what they could to construct pieces off site and they arrived now in the backs of pick-up trucks. 

The next few hours passed in a flurry of activity. Aziraphale and Mr. Velasquez helped to organize the cast volunteers so that they might aid the crew members, instead of making nuisances of themselves. Once the head custodian had gotten proper permission to let them inside, construction began in earnest.

Aziraphale had always enjoyed watching humans build things; it was one of their most fascinating traits. No matter where you put them, no matter the threats, the arguments, the petty disagreements, and the chaos- they managed to build and create. Even these high schoolers, not yet fully welcomed into adulthood, possessed the ability. Through their sweat, labor, and a few nail guns, they created a functional turn table. After a pause for lunch (Mr. Velasquez ordered a comically long subway sandwich to feed them all) the barricade rose up. By four ‘o’ clock, both cast and crew were exhausted but pleasantly pleased with their work.

There was painting yet to be done and other, more minor, set pieces to be built some other day, but for now they gloried in their accomplishments.

Throughout it all, while Aziraphale ran from place to place making sure everything was happening in an orderly fashion and that all minor injuries were properly disinfected, Anthony kept Manny entertained. They had settled at the back of the auditorium when construction had moved inside, and Aziraphale kept looking across the sea of chairs to see what they were doing.

There had been more stories, some sort of game that involved crawling among the seats, a bit of drawing courtesy of pilfered school supplies, and even a lullaby. Anthony had somehow coaxed the boy to take a nap among the sounds of hammering and shouting teenagers.

Aziraphale was standing on stage, staring at them, when Mr. Velasquez stepped up beside him. “I was honestly a little worried when Tony offered to look after him, but he’s done an amazing job. He’s more mature than I’ve given him credit for.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale.

The director raised his voice to talk to everyone assembled. “I want to thank all of you for the work you’ve done so far today. I’ve been worried about these two set pieces since I decided we had the right group of kids to attempt this show and you’ve all proved to me that I shouldn’t have worried. Now the original plan was to send most of you home and just keep whichever crew kids are going to be running the turntable and the cast members we need to run the second part of the barricade sequence. But, I would understand if it’s too much today. Do you still want to run that, or should I call Mrs. Ferguson and tell her we’re not going to need accompaniment today?”

“Let’s do it!” Rachel shouted from the audience and soon the whole cast was chanting with her.

“All right, in that case, if you’re not in those scenes, you’re free to go home. The rest of us will take a break until Mrs. Ferguson arrives and then we’ll get to work!”

He hopped off the stage, cringing slightly, in the way of a man who wasn’t quite young enough to move like that anymore. Aziraphale followed him, less gracefully but with less pain, as he made his way to the back of the auditorium to get his son.

“Thanks for your help, Tony, but I’ll keep Manny with me now. You deserve a break before we get started.” Manny, groggy after waking up from his nap, reached out sleepy arms as his father picked him up.

“It was fine, Mr. V. I can look after him again later, you know, after I’m dead and stuff.”

“Right, well, we’re not running too much of the stuff from after you die, but thanks for the offer. Go, take a break. You’ve earned it.”

Anthony nodded, hopped up, and stretched. He had been sitting there, with Manny’s head on his lap, for some time and Aziraphale had to imagine he was quite stiff.

“Did you get a chance to eat much during lunch? Your mother would never forgive me if I brought you home hungry,” Aziraphale said as the two of them walked back down the auditorium aisle toward the stage.

“She’d forgive you for _anything_ , and, even if she wouldn’t, we’re getting back at dinner time, right? I’m supposed to be hungry then.”

“But you didn’t answer the question.”

Anthony stopped and turned in his tracks. He looked quite annoyed, then suddenly flushed. He dropped his gaze and mumbled, “I ate. You don’t need to baby me all the time. I won’t, like, break or whatever if you let me take care of myself every once in a while.”

“Right. No. I’m sorry. I just… I keep doing the wrong thing lately, don’t I?” Aziraphale’s hands found one another and twisted anxiously together.

“Ezra, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just… you just worry too much, is all.” Anthony reached out and put a hand on his elbow, before quickly withdrawing it. He laughed, although Aziraphale wasn’t certain what about. Anthony made an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Anyway, if you’re going to worry about something, you should worry about me laughing through my death scene again.”

“Well, you seem to be worried enough about that on your own. I’m sure you’ll get it soon, though. I imagine the sound effects and set will go a long way.” Aziraphale was less ‘sure’ than he was ‘hopeful’. For all the other scenes that Anthony had improved in, he had made no progress on his death scene. In fact, he had arguably become worse. The more he tried not to laugh the worse it was.

“I mean, I guess it’ll help to have gunshot sounds instead of you yelling ‘pow’ from the audience. Do they have the sound effect yet?”

“No.” The boy looked crest fallen. “But I won’t be shouting from the audience. Now that we’re working with set pieces I’ll be stationed backstage from here on out. You’ll hear me shout ‘pow’ from the wings.”

Anthony looked up at him, pleading little eyes impossible to resist. “Could you try to maybe find another way to make a noise? Even just stomping your feet a little.”

“If you think that will help. Right now the sound is just to give you something to react too. So whatever works for you should be-”

“I got it!” Anthony’s entire face lit up. “Take one of those nail guns and hold it up real close to a microphone!”

“That’s brilliant, Anthony! I’ll do just that.” The boy preened with a pride for just a moment before subsiding into bashful embarrassment.

“Yeah, uh, thanks. I think that’ll help. So, uh, thanks.” Then he scurried away to join the rebels where they were gathering up by the barricade to give it a few test climbs before rehearsal began.

Aziraphale watched from a distance, gathering up his script and other items to take with him back stage. Anthony seemed remarkably at home among the cast, although by his age and size alone, he ought to have been a misfit. He was talking with them now, although Aziraphale could not quite hear what it was about, until he mounted the stage steps himself.

The tallest of the ‘student rebels’, a theater convert due to an injury that had kept him from the basketball season, rustled Anthony’s hair. “If you break out laughing today when I pick up your corpse, I’m just going to drop you back over the barricade so the show can keep going.”

Aziraphale bristled. How dare he tease Anthony about something that made him anxious? He squared his shoulders and readied himself to intervene. But then Anthony was responding with a smirk, “Like you guys don’t keep losing it when you die in slow motion two scenes later.”

Then they were laughing, both of them laughing, with the sort of comfort Aziraphale had barely achieved with the humans he was closest too. He stopped himself, at the start of his righteous stride, and retreated into the wings instead. Anthony had just said himself he didn’t need to be babied. The last thing he wanted was Aziraphale’s interference.

Still, it felt strange to watch him fitting in so well. Even after four years in the theater department, Aziraphale always felt like a bit of an outsider. He had become the drama club’s mother hen, always there cleaning up, bringing baked goods, and making sure everyone was alright. The other students all liked him, but he was still a step away from belonging. He was the angel looking over them all and he usually didn’t mind. That’s how his life had always been- he and Crowley, a part of and yet apart from the world around them.

Only, he thought as he watched Anthony cracking jokes with the rest of the cast, Crowley was one of them now. He was living the life he’d wanted.

There was no time for following those thoughts down the rabbit hole they led to. Mrs. Ferguson arrived, bringing with her a great scurrying of actors getting into place. They’d be picking up just after Violet had been carried off stage. They all looked rather pleased with their new set, finding places to perch on their barricade as they readied themselves for the next fight.

Aziraphale, in this time between when they’d start practicing with props and after everyone seemed to know their lines, found himself with little to do but watch Anthony. There he was, handing invisible bullets off to the fighters, face sober and battle ready. He really was flourishing with this chance to perform. Aziraphale watched him as he helped Rachel bandage the wounded, and as he curled up beneath a table to sleep while everyone else drank their sorrows. He looked so small and helpless there. Aziraphale had to remind himself it was all theater and that there was no cause for him to remember how he’d looked hidden beneath that blueberry bush so many years ago.

His sightline was interrupted when Jean Valjean stepped in to view. Aziraphale tried to peer around him as though what was, arguably, the most famous solo from the show was less important than the boy across the way.

“ _God on high_

_Hear my prayer_

_In my need_

_You have always been there_

_He is young_

_He’s afraid_

_Let him rest_

_Heaven blessed_.”

And Aziraphale was back in a dozen different moments from the past ten years. Worrying about Crowley before he’d even arrived, watching him flinch in his father’s presence, holding him as he wept with anger at his mother, begging the Lord for the power to save him. That had been the point of all this, to support him through the difficulties that might prevent him from the human life he’d wanted.

“ _The summers die_

_One by one_

_How soon they fly_

_On and on_

_And I am old_

_And will be gone”_

Somewhere along the way Aziraphale had begun to lose track of it. If he were honest with himself, perhaps he’d always had ulterior motives. He’d missed Crowley and wanted to spend time with him, in whatever form that might take.

_“You can take_

_You can give_

_Let him be_

_Let him live_

_If I die, let me die_

_Let him live_

_Bring him home_

_Bring him home_

_Bring him home.”_

These past months of arguing with himself over whether or not he should leave, maybe that had all been a little selfish too. If he was willing to give anything for Anthony to have the life he wanted, willing to fight, to die, to suffer through adolescence, then he had to be willing to leave him too. He had to be willing to say goodbye.

Because Anthony, it was becoming increasingly clear, did not need him anymore. As Mr. Velasquez had said, he’d grown so much in only a handful of years. He was perfectly capable now of making friends and standing up for himself. He had a mother who loved him and two teachers waiting at the high school to look out for him. He was likable and clever, hardworking and talented.

The boy would be alright.

And, as if to hammer home that point, Anthony managed a flawless death. He climbed the barricade, did not falter as the crew revolved the set mid song for the very first time. He sang his tragic reprise, flinching with every click of the nail gun, and collapsed dramatically on his way back to safety.

Manny howled from the audience.

He was all smiles when he sat up, after being carried off stage. He grinned at Aziraphale, full of pride at his own brilliance. “Did I do okay?”

The cheeky thing was fishing for compliments; Aziraphale humored him, “You did wonderfully. Perhaps a bit too wonderfully. You should go show Manny that you’re still alive.”

“Thanks for doing the nail gun thing. It really did make a difference.”

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t think of yourself, my clever boy. Now go.”

Anthony gave him a prideful grin before scurrying out through the stage door. Aziraphale watched him go, thinking of how much he’d miss that joyful little face when he left.

Because Aziraphale had made his decision. He would pass his tests. He would leave come autumn. Until then, for one last summer, he’d let himself be selfish. They’d spend as much time together as possible and then he would leave, giving Anthony the chance to spread his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our title song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsYnhVITf9E
> 
> Gavroche's death (starring a tiny Nick Jonas, apparently): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6cKKVlCdUs
> 
> Next week: the show! (and me finally getting through what was like, two chapters in my plan...)
> 
> Also, if you were wondering about the songs from Fiddler on the Roof that Aziraphale and Mr. V mention in passing:  
> Sunrise, Sunset: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLLEBAQLZ3Q  
> Chavaleh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juuhx884ylM


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On break this week, so I'm publishing a little early!
> 
> Today's warning: Excessive Theater Kid Business.

May 2004

Anthony sat very still atop a table in the art room. For the evening it had been repurposed into the boys’ dressing room and was currently a mess of abandoned clothing, empty spray cans of gray hair color, and the left over wrappers of so much fast food. The costumes, under Aziraphale’s orders, all hung neatly by the door, ready for to be worn. Some students were already changed and ready for their first scenes, but most were still putting on their makeup or futzing with their hair.

Aziraphale had already completed that part of his own transformation. On top of the general coloring necessary to stand beneath the stage lights, he’d lined his face with penciled on wrinkles. He thought he’d done a rather splendid job too, although he supposed it helped that he already knew what he ought to look like with a bit more age.

Just now, he was attending to Anthony as he had each night before their dress rehearsals. The boy had been quite embarrassed by it all the first time around, although whether it was the concept of wearing makeup, the idea of asking for help, or something else entirely Aziraphale had been unable to ascertain. Either way, he’d gotten over himself at some point throughout the week. Tonight he sat, unmoving, as Aziraphale artfully applied smudges of ‘dirt’ to his cheeks and chin.

“Have a look, my dear. How is that?” He handed Anthony a mirror and watched as he eyed himself from various angles.

“Perfect. Thanks!” He hopped down and hurried to the window, peering through the blinds to peek out at the school parking lot.

Aziraphale smiled indulgently as he went to fetch both of their costumes from the rack. When he’d obtained them he went to Anthony’s side. “Is it busy out there?”

“Not yet, but a few cars have pulled in. What time is it?”

“Seven ten. A little less than an hour left, and past time I should get myself back stage. It’s a good thing the bishop costume is black or I’d have a few changes on my hand, hmm?” Aziraphale said, starting in on the buttons of his shirt. The trick to changing in a flock of adolescents while keeping one’s dignity intact, was to wear an undershirt and a modest pair of underthings. It allowed a certain privacy even when there was none to be found.

The other option, however, was the one that Anthony opted for. He took his costume said, “Jeeze, Ezra, keep your shirt on” and fled. He would go change in a bathroom stall like all the freshmen who simply hadn’t gotten used to the concept of a dressing room yet.

Aziraphale only wished he’d gotten the chance to wish him a proper broken leg before his disappearance. It was unlikely they’d see one another before the curtains rose. There was simply too much to do between now and then. As soon as Aziraphale was dressed, he grabbed his script and made his way toward the stage. Along the way he checked the prop tables, an outline for every item had been carefully taped out so that if anything were missing it would be clear at a glance. Tonight all was in ready position. Excellent.

He checked in with the stage crew next, making sure they’d all dressed in the appropriate black and were ready to move set pieces and turn revolves as the moment required. Then he found his headset and placed it carefully in his curls, hoping that the cheap grey hair coloring he’d used to age himself wouldn’t rub off too much.

“Are you there, Mr. Velasquez?”

It was an imperfect piece of technology, but the director’s voice came back with a crackle. “Yup. I’m here. Everything’s good to go on my end.”

Mr. Velasquez would spend the show in the lighting booth. There were other crew members there, adjusting the sound for microphones and controlling the lights. It was a vital job and they’d need all the help they could get.

“Right. All seems shipshape right now. I was about to go make sure that all the major players are properly equipped with microphones for the early scenes. I just wanted to check in.”

“No problem, Ezra. Break a leg.”

Then he was rushing off again, checking microphones, and giving the cast warnings about how close they were to curtain. A pleasant nervous energy pervaded the dressing rooms and Aziraphale caught sight of Anthony at the window again. He was no longer alone. A number of boys had joined him there. They pointed and nudged one another, commenting on the arriving audience.

They were all so charmingly young and excited that Aziraphale would have blessed them all if he could. Tonight the best he could do was make sure no technical problems ruined things for them. He hurried back to his work.

Before long it was time. The curtain rose on a gang of prisoners toiling away in misery. Valjean was plucked from among them to receive his parole ticket and the whole grand story began. After all these months of work, it all seemed to go so quickly. There was hardly any time before Aziraphale had to remove his headset and step out on stage himself. Anthony was waiting with a thumbs up when he returned.

Then on went the night. Fortunes turned, a woman died, a child was adopted, grew up, and fell in love. Anthony shone amongst it all, flitting between the crowds, winning laughs with his mischief. The brilliant end to act one, where the entire cast joined together on stage, left the audience applauding as the actors all congratulated one another behind the scenes.

Anthony, in his oversized hat and purposeful rags, hurried to Aziraphale’s side the moment it was safe to talk. “I saw them. They’re in the middle part, kind of close to the front. My mom waved and everything!”

“I think I saw them too. Although, I’m still not sure how _my_ mother handled all the whoring early on.”

“You warned her. ‘Sides, she’s probably just thrilled that you were all godly and stuff. Do you think the audience will like the second half?”

“There won’t be a dry eye in the house after you’re through with them,” Aziraphale assured him.

Fifteen minutes later they were back at it. The barricade rolled on stage, getting a fair amount of applause all by itself. The revolution was inaugurated, death and sacrifice followed. Anthony died magnificently, leaving Aziraphale in tears. He then spent the rest of the night at Aziraphale’s heels until he had to go back with all the other dead for the final number.

Then came bows and applause. It was all so glorious that Aziraphale wondered why any human, why any being, did anything other than make and appreciate art (literary and culinary arts included, of course).

Aziraphale was eager to get out and meet the crowds; he’d never had a part outside the chorus before and he felt more than a little proud of himself. There was cleaning up to do first, however, so they’d likely all be gone before he could go. As the rest of the cast changed back into their clothing, Aziraphale gathered their costumes to hang up. He’d go clean up the girls’ room when they’d all cleared out.

Anthony, however, had other things in mind. He climbed up onto one of the art tables. “Hey, everybody! Stop leaving everything on the floor and clean up your own stuff. It’s not Ezra’s job to pick up your shit!”

There was laughter and then a few embarrassed glances at the state of the room. Anthony hurried off to deliver his message to the girls and, while it might not have been the most delicate request, it was nonetheless effective.

Aziraphale had never been able to leave so early before.

There were still crowds of audience around, greeting the cast members as they stepped out into the lobby. Aziraphale and Anthony had barely arrived when they were waylaid by Keisha and Molly, who’d already been fussing over Rachel.

“You guys were like totally amazing. I’ve never heard you sing before, Ez. It was so good.” Keisha hugged him tightly. Then she smiled down at Anthony. “You, I already knew would be great. Nice job!”

“Well, _I_ didn’t know. I practically fell out of my chair!” Molly followed this up by blushing and adding more quietly, “I’m glad Keisha got me to go.”

She’d been an absentee friend for most of their high school career, off chasing popularity in whatever form she could find it. There was something about senior year and the impending truth that none of this really mattered, that had brought her back into the fold.

“I’m so glad you two were able to come. It’s always so lovely to see you.” He gave them each a hug before glancing around the room, “Have you seen our parents yet?”

Rachel pointed toward the doors. “They stopped and congratulated me, but I think they’re talking to Mr. V now. They’re way over there.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you both at school on Monday. And I’ll see you tomorrow, Rachel.”

“You’re not coming out to the diner?” Rachel asked.

“You know I never do.”

“Wait, there’s a diner? I wanna eat at a diner at eleven ‘o’ clock at night!” Anthony called as they pushed through the crowd.

“You’ll have to ask your mother, but I doubt she’s ready to send you out with a group of high schoolers past midnight.”

“Not if you’re not going.” He yawned and unconvincingly added, “That’s lame.”

They had not yet reached their parents when Maddy saw them coming. She pushed her way toward them and attempted to swoop Anthony up into her arms. She was, however, a small woman and he was already thirteen. She settled on a hug instead.

“You were absolutely amazing, Tony. I cried the whole time. My little boy is so talented. Ugh, I’m so proud!” He could not escape her grasp and so let her kiss him on the cheek even though they were in public. He had turned quite an adorable shade of red.

A moment later, Elijah and Edith reached them. Aziraphale found himself clapped on the shoulder by the first and hugged tightly by the second. He received his own words of praise before the parents swapped. Maddy came over to tell him how good he’d been, while the Clarks clucked over Anthony.

It had, all in all, been a glorious success- and they got to do it two more times.

* * *

It was over. The barricade had fallen for the last time and now various members of the cast were crying and hugging each other like they wouldn’t all see each other at school tomorrow. Tony was the one who ought to be in tears. He wouldn’t get to come back to the high school for a whole other year. The entire eighth grade stood between him and getting to do this sort of thing again. But Tony was too excited to be disappointed yet. One more adventure awaited before the experience came to an end.

Tony was going to a high school party.

Well, that was probably a charitable thing to call it. While the cast party might break up into smaller groups that would get into actual teenage trouble that evening, the party itself was notoriously tame. It was held at a house where the parents were home (this year at the Batemans’) and Mr. Velasquez and Mrs. Ferguson were both invited.

Still when Tony went to school on Monday and told everyone he’d been to real high school party he would not be lying. This was the sort of cred that any seventh grader would kill for. The fact that two sixth graders would also be present only put a slight damper on the proceedings.

Back in his regular clothes, with most of his street urchin makeup successfully removed, Tony followed Ezra out into the lobby for one final time. The Sunday performance was a matinee, meaning both that the sun was still up and that most of their audience was over retirement age. There were no grandparents waiting for either of them, but a few of the older church goers had come to show their support. Mrs. Holmes and her husband complimented them for so long and in such detail that even Ezra was compelled to interrupt after a while.

“I am sorry but Anthony and I have a post-performance get to together that we’re expected to attend. We simply must be going.”

“Right, of course. You two go have a bash while you’ve still got youth on your side. We’ll see you next Sunday.”

“Yes, thank you. Goodbye,” Ezra said.

“Thanks. See ya!” Tony added and the two of them hurried out the door.

Elijah had allowed Ezra use of his car again, which meant they could stay out as late as they wanted, provided they were back at a reasonable time for a school night. Even if that only meant eight ‘o’ clock, there was still a certain freedom in knowing that no adult had an exact say in where they were. Tony put his feet up on the dashboard and relaxed.

“Please put your feet down.”

“Ah, Ezra, your no fun.”

“It’s not safe! Cars have been built with features designed to protect you that assume you are sitting properly in your seat. If we were in accident with you in that position you could end up utterly mangled.”

Tony rolled his eyes but put his feet down anyway. Sometimes he wondered why he had a crush on Ezra in the first place when he was such a buzzkill all the time. Then Ezra switched the radio onto some radio station playing baroque music and drummed his fingers happily again the steering wheel. He looked so pleased that Tony’s heart did a flip. He blushed and looked out the window for the rest of the drive.

The passing neighborhood was bright and green, spotted with the colors of spring. The homes here were large, but not particularly ostentatious, more like Mikey’s house than Ryan’s. There was a ‘for sale’ sign posted in one of the yards, and Tony wondered how much it might cost, how many years or lifetimes his mother would have to work to afford it.

He supposed they might just live above the church until he graduated high school and there wasn’t any reason to hang around Westwich anymore.

“Ah, here we are! Rachel’s home is just up here.” There really wasn’t any need for Ezra to make the announcement. The home’s driveway was crammed with cast member’s cars and even more of them lined the street. As Ezra pulled over, Violet and her friend Meg got out of the vehicle ahead of them. Meg was carrying a bag of chips. “That reminds me, we can’t forget the cupcakes. Be a dear and help me carry them, won’t you?”

Tony was incapable of being anything other than a dear when Ezra asked him. He scrambled out of the car and went around to the back seat where two full trays of baked goods were waiting to go in. Ezra had intended to make them himself on Saturday afternoon but had been so exhausted after tech week and opening night that he’d slept straight through to noon. Edith had stepped in and saved the day. She’d helped Ezra with the baking and then sent him off to the show’s second night with the promise that he shouldn’t worry. By the time he and Tony got back that evening she’d decorated them all with perfect revolutionary rosettes. Ezra had practically cried.

Edith’s work did not go unappreciated. Rachel’s mother admired the cupcakes when the boys stepped through the front door and, after she’d directed them down to the party in the basement, the cupcakes were the clear jewel of the refreshment table. Everything else was just store bought cookies, chip dip, and cans of soda. Tony would have to exaggerate a little when he told the story at school.

“So, what happens now?” he asked, glancing around the room. It was not exactly what he’d expected based on that time Mikey had described the ten minutes he’d seen of _American Pie_. There was a lot less drinking and making out for one thing. It was mostly just kids sitting around and talking with each other while holding cans of Pepsi. He was _definitely_ going to need to exaggerate.

“I’m sure Rachel will put on some music soon and there’ll be some dancing and other such japery. They’ll order pizza at some point, someone will probably suggest charades because this is, after all, a gathering of drama students. Oh, and the Seniors will give speeches. It’s a bit of a tradition.”

“Are you going to give one too?”

Ezra looked taken aback for a moment, “I suppose I will. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Before long, everything Ezra had described began to come true. Once most of the cast had arrived, Rachel put on some radio hits station and awkward dancing ensued. You would think that somewhere in a group of people who all claimed to like musical theater, someone would be able to dance, but there was a difference between choreography and the sort of dancing expected on the dance floor. The difference was that no one here knew how to do the latter.

Tony found a perch on the back of a couch and watched the proceedings from there. If no one quite knew how to dance to popular music, that had no effect on their desire to sing it. Every time a club song gave way to something more melodic, a chorus of voices would rise up in a mix of togetherness and competition.

Tony was growing bored and he’d lost track of Ezra.

He slipped down from the couch and left the central part of the basement to explore it’s odd nooks and corners. He found a group playing some card game in the area beneath the stairs, a few kids fiddling with Rachel’s brother’s Playstation 2 along the far wall, and a couple chorus members sucking face behind the furnace.

None of these people was Ezra, however, and Tony frowned. If he were Ezra at a high school party, where would he disappear to? The answer seemed obvious once he thought of it. He pushed his way back through the awkward dance floor and then proceeded up the staircase to the Bateman’s kitchen.

There he found them, Ezra and all the adults. Of course he was here talking with Rachel’s parents and the teachers rather than down with his peers. He’d gone where he was most comfortable.

He was mid conversation with Rachel’s father. “In London, yes. My acceptance is dependent on my test scores but I’m not too concerned about that. I’m confident I did well enough.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that. I’m more surprised that you didn’t end up as the class valedictorian.”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid Calculus got the better of me there. Dragged my grade point average down just enough to rank me third in the class. I don’t mind really. It means I don’t have to give any speeches at graduation.” He took a sip of his tea. “How has work been, by the way? Any trying times at court?”

Ezra looked at home up here, holding a mug and discussing the law business, in a way he never would with a can of soda dancing to Outkast. His smile was easy, his eyes bright and inquisitive. Tony had intended to drag him back into the basement so that he’d have someone to talk to, but suddenly that didn’t seem right anymore. He began to retreat.

Then Mr. Velasquez saw him, “Tony! How’s everything going downstairs? People having fun?”

Tony took a few steps into the kitchen, trying to look as though he’d come up here just to talk to the director and for no other reason at all. Mr. V and Mrs. Ferguson were standing by the kitchen counter speaking together, likely because they didn’t know what else to do with themselves and they couldn’t leave before the pizza arrived. That would be rude. Tony could understand why Mr. V was eager to talk to him.

“It’s alright, I guess. It’s just a lot of dancing.”

“I’m surprised you’re not in the middle of it,” Mrs. Ferguson said with something that might be considered a smile.

“I… well, I mean if it were a middle school party maybe or if it were more my style of music or something.” He was painfully aware that Ezra was now watching him from across the room. The absolute worst thing would be if the older boy offered to leave early just to get Tony home like he was one of the sixth graders who’d only stopped in for fifteen minutes. “It’s not bad though. It’s fun. I just came up to check on Ezra. He doesn’t like crowds or loud music very much. So I was worried about him.”

It was, Tony felt, a brilliant recovery.

It must have been because Ezra gave him a melty expression. “You needn’t worry about me, dear, I’m all right.”

“Cool,” said Tony, “Just making sure.”

He stood a moment, indecisive at the top of stairs and then turned to flee back down into the party. He nearly ran smack into Violet.

“Woah, kid. Where’s the fire?”

“I dunno,” he said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Where are you going?”

“Meg told me to get my guitar out of the car. She said I couldn’t keep complaining about the music if I wasn’t going to do anything about it, but I’m not sure I want to be _that_ person at the party. Figured I might set up somewhere else if anyone wants to listen.” Her eyes widened when she noticed the adults over Tony’s shoulder, “If, uh, that would be cool with Rachel’s parents.”

“We’re trying to keep the house in a decent state, but if you want to set up on the back porch you can. Just don’t play _too_ loudly. We still have to see our neighbors tomorrow,” Mrs. Bateman said.

Violet nodded, looking out of sorts interacting politely with an adult, and then headed toward the front door. The path to the basement was clear again, but Tony did not go. He turned once more to follow after Violet, stopping only a moment by Ezra’s side. “Can I have the car keys?”

Mr. Bateman laughed, “You’re going to drive home on your own?”

“I’m sure he’s just getting something from the car. And I’m sure I can guess what it is.” Ezra winked and Tony felt as though snakes were slithering around inside his stomach. He ran off the moment the cold metal of the keys touched his palm.

It was still bright outside, which seemed wrong after spending so much time in the dark basement. He could easily see Violet, guitar case now slung over her back, as she hefted an amp out of the trunk of her car. It was larger than the one the Clarks had gotten Tony for his birthday and, for a moment, he felt a twinge of jealousy. That was before he imagined himself trying to carry a full size amp. He’d look like an idiot.

One of the points of having an electric guitar (besides the music and creativity and all the sort of stuff) was to look as cool as possible. Tony put on his best swagger as he approached Ezra’s car. Out of the corner of his eye he noted that Violet was now watching him. Her eyebrow went up as he pulled out his own guitar case and much smaller amp.

“Are you challenging me to a duel or are we starting a band?” she asked.

“Neither,” he insisted. “I just figured it’s kind of obnoxious for _one_ person to bring their guitar to a party. You basically said it yourself and that’s why I left mine in the car. But if _two_ people do it, it’s just like a party game or something.”

They eyed one another, Tony keeping his face straight as he waited for her reaction. Eventually she shrugged. “I guess. Come on, kid. Let’s shred.”

He tried not to grin too widely as he followed her across the lawn and around to the back of the Bateman’s house. Playing guitar at a high school party would not require any exaggeration to sound awesome.

It was nicer outside, in the waning spring afternoon, than was down in the crowded basement. Tony didn’t mind so much that it took ten minutes for he and Violet to locate the outdoor outlets. There was a pleasantly warm breeze and Violet talked to him like a peer as she guided him through properly adjusting his amp.

“I started on acoustic too and learning how to get all the nobs and shit right was probably the hardest part of switching over. It’s a whole other thing when you’re trying to get different instruments to sound good together. That’s a sweet guitar, by the way. Do you like playing it?”

Tony gave a few strums to test their current set up before he answered. “I love playing it! It sounds more like my favorite stuff to listen to. I’m still getting used to how fast it can actually go. My fingers aren’t as… nimble on strings as they are on piano keys.”

“ _Nimble_. Sometimes I have trouble believing that you’re so close with Ezra and then you use words like that.” It might have been an insult, but she didn’t say it like it was. “I’ve been in classes with him since elementary school and I’ve never seen him as comfortable as he is with you. It must be nice. I’ve only ever fought with my sister.”

“We’re not siblings! We’re friends,” Tony insisted. He’d made that argument before, but never with the urgency he felt now. He already had to wait forever before he could even hope that Ezra might consider him, there was no need to add other hurdles in the way.

“I thought his family had taken you in or something?”

“Only for like a year, when I was in first grade. It wasn’t permanent or anything. I mean, you met my mom. I never thought of his parents as mine, not even when I was living with them, and I never thought of Ezra as a brother. I just thought of him as… as Ezra.”

Even without The Crush, Tony would have struggled to describe how much Ezra meant to him. It had always been bigger than brothers or friends. Even if he couldn’t say it anymore, Ezra was his angel and always would be.

Violet seemed to sense that the conversation was getting too heavy and changed the subject. “Okay, kid, what do you want to play?’

This was a far more comfortable topic and, before long, Tony and Violet were trading bars of music back and forth. She really was an amazing guitarist. Her fingers flew over the strings with an ease and confidence that Tony was years from acquiring. He could match her on simple songs but she could bust into solos like he had never before heard in person.

The longer they played, the more cast members gravitated up from the basement and out to the backyard. They began to make requests for the sort of rock songs that everyone knew the chorus to (‘Don’t Stop Believing’, ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’, and in present company, half the score to _Rent_ ). Violet and Tony did their best to keep up, figuring out the melodies when they didn’t actually know the proper accompaniment.

Even Ezra and the teachers wandered out at some point and stood by the back door watching on. Mrs. Ferguson was as difficult to read as always while Mr. Velasquez shouted out they lyrics to ‘Sweet Caroline’ with as much unbridled joy as his cast. Tony, however, did his best not to look too much in their direction, because he knew his fingers would slip if he studied Ezra. He’d spend too long puzzling out that look of sad pride that he seemed to wear so often these days.

The cast sing along stopped only when the pizza arrived and the adolescents descended upon the boxes to eat every last crumb and drip of cheese. They set upon the desserts after that, as Mr. V passed out the cast t-shirts and everyone stopped talking to find their names listed on the back. Tony ate by Ezra’s side, happy to find himself unflustered for the moment.

As everyone began to search for napkins, to wipe grease and frosting from their cheeks and fingers, Mr. V whistled for silence. “There’s a tradition that happens at every Westwich spring cast party that I feel required to stay for. Every year the seniors, whether they’ve been with us from freshman year or just for the one show, whether you’ve had a starring role or were a part of the chorus line, give short speeches. So, if any one would like to volunteer, we can get that started.”

There was a great raising of hands, but everyone agreed that Rachel ought to go first. Although she’d only ever played maids and background characters, she was more involved and more supportive than anyone else. The shows might have been the same without her but the drama club wouldn’t be. She was followed by other members, each of them sharing their stories of belonging and finding themselves in a place that let them be who they truly were. There was a lot of crying and thanking Mr. Velasquez and reminiscing over the long years together.

Violet’s speech stood out among them, in part because it was so short. “I just, uh, I wanna thank you guys. I honestly thought that showing up late to the game would make everyone kind of hate me, but you were all pretty cool about it. I spent so much of high school worrying about my cred as a real rocker, punk kid that I wouldn’t let myself do other stuff I enjoyed. That was fucking dumb, so thanks for letting me enjoy acting again. I forgot I liked it.” 

It was, however, Ezra’s speech that Tony would remember long after the night was over. He went last and only after demurring and being urged into the center of the circle. He smiled around at the gathered cast with the air of a great grandparent admiring his progeny. “Look at you all. I can’t begin to say how proud I am of each and every one of you. It is a difficult thing to grow up a human. Even in the best of circumstances, with all of your basic needs met, there’s a great deal of self-discovery to be done, a great deal of struggling under expectations. It is easy, having gone through it, to understand how people get lost. How they find themselves alone, or come to believe they’re alone even when they’re not. How they might turn to destruction of others or of themselves. It’s been the story of so much of humanity since the very beginning.

“But you, all of you, as a part of this group, you chose to create instead of destroy. You made something and that something brought joy and sadness and all the other great feelings of humanity to others. You did that this weekend and many of you did it again and again over the past four years. I hope the younger among you will carry on where we left off, because making things is more important than you will ever know. We can’t be certain who saw what we made this weekend and will remember it. We can never know who we’ve reached and who we’ve changed.

“I have spent… my entire life enjoying the creations of humanity, both the great and the small, but I’ve very rarely had the opportunity to help make anything. I have been involved in every show in my time at the school, in one capacity or another, and each one gave me that chance to help create. As I look forward to the coming year, to all the ends and beginnings it will bring, I can’t be certain what awaits me. But these opportunities have shown me the value in the act of making and, if I cannot go on to be a creator in my own right, I hope I will always find ways to support and encourage those humans who make instead of destroy. Those humans who touch hearts instead of breaking them.”

Ezra had, until this point, been looking around at everyone else. Now, here at the end, he looked directly at Tony. “We have reached the point where I must leave you all behind, but if I could leave you with only one word of advice it is this: keep making things. It is the greatest opportunity of a human life to invent and imagine and create. You have the chance to do that now. Let nothing stand in your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a poll:
> 
> So, I'm about 2/3rds of the way through what I've planned of part 5 and I'm coming to a realization. In terms of having a discreet emotional story arc, it really doesn't stand on its own. 5 and 6 are one story in a way that the other sections aren't. 
> 
> So what I'm trying to decide is this: Do I stick to the original plan and publish 5 and 6 separately, with the understanding that Part 5 will have that incomplete, middle of a trilogy kind of feel to it? OR Do I lump them together into one 40-something chapter monstrosity, with the understanding that I'd start publishing it before it's finished? (This is something I'd sworn not to do, although I'd still have 20 chapters in the bank before I began publishing it).
> 
> I just wanted to hear people's thoughts. Would it make any difference to you either way?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warning:  
> Discussion of Racism (Not anything particularly overt, but the pressures of and unfairness created by institutionalized racism)  
> Coming Out (But just a little bit)

_Les Miserables_ had had its opening night and its final curtain only a week ago, but since then it seemed that everything was endings. There was more than a month left of school, but all the talk among the senior class was finals, graduation, university, and prom. They were at the culmination of thirteen years of formal education and all that had been promised was finally being delivered. Even the teachers had nearly given up on getting them to do anything but prepare for the last exams.

Aziraphale didn’t want to think about it much. It was all just reminders that that these salad days were fast approaching their end and that he was but a season away from saying goodbye to Anthony. He might have all the days of the earth left before him, but these ones had passed never to come around again.

It did not help to hear more of this talk on Sunday afternoon. He’d known it was coming since the after services reception, when he’d overheard Edith with a few of the mother’s from his school, chatting in the corner of the Fellowship Hall. The topic of conversation had been nothing but dresses, tuxedos, limos, and the price of prom tickets. Aziraphale was only surprised that Edith had waited until halfway through dinner preparations to raise the subject.

“I was talking to some of the ladies at church who have children in your grade and they said prom tickets have been on sale for over a week. I know you worry sometimes about the cost of things but your father and I are happy to pay for that and everything that goes along with it. I wouldn’t want you missing out on all the fun.”

Aziraphale was chopping carrots and very carefully did not look up. “I wasn’t thinking I would go, actually.”

If this had come as a surprise, Edith’s response would have been swift. Instead, she slowly put down the salad spinner. “I know you’re not a big one for social events, honey. It’s never surprised me that you didn’t want to go to any of the other dances, but this is _prom_. It’s part of the whole senior experience. It’s not something you’ll get the chance to do again.”

“I know it’s a big deal here, but it’s not really a thing in England. There are dances, but not in quite the same way.” He set down the knife and wiped his hands on his apron. “It’s not as though I’ll be hearing everyone else’s prom stories next year and feeling as though I’ve missed out.”

Edith raised both her eyebrows. “I’m sure a lot of people will be asking you what prom was like once they hear you went to school in America.”

Aziraphale briefly cursed the globalization of media and the fact that she was, in all likelihood, correct. He decided to be a bit more honest, but continued to avoid her gaze. “It’s only that… well, isn’t part of the point the couples aspect? I’ve never really gone out with anyone.”

“I mean, I guess it depends a little on the school’s culture around that. When I was in school I didn’t have a boy senior year. I just went with a group of my friends and we all had a fantastic time.” She smiled, lost for a moment in 1978. “I remember _Grease_ had come out the week before and we’d all gone to see it. We got the band at prom to play ‘We Go Together’ and everyone was just having the best time. It’s a last hurrah for you and your friends. It doesn’t have to be about dating.”’

It was a nice sentiment, but it would have been nicer if Molly, Rachel, and Keisha weren’t all matched up. He’d be some sort of spectacular seventh wheel if he trudged along after them, and it didn’t seem worth it just to go somewhere to listen to music he didn’t enjoy be played at too high a volume. Not knowing how else to end the conversation he gave Edith a vague, “I’ll consider it.”

He’d hoped that would lay it all to rest but, that evening when he was readying himself for bed, a knock came on his door. He finished buttoning his pajama shirt, put his glasses back on, and went to answer it. Elijah stood in the hallway.

“Hey, bud. Can we talk?”

Aziraphale considered being coy and decided against it. “I suppose this is about the dance.”

Elijah laughed. “Yeah, basically. Can I come in?”

Aziraphale made no attempt to hide his long-suffering sigh, but stepped aside to allow the pastor into his room. He was in no mood for the typical parallel heart-to-heart and so chose to sit in the desk chair. This forced Elijah to either look at him directly or awkwardly look away.

The pastor manfully tried for eye contact. “So your mom was saying that you’re worried about going to prom because you don’t have a date. Is that fair?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, look, I know how shy you can be. You’ve made huge, huge, strides since you started high school, but I know it’s still difficult for you. I can understand why it might be really hard to ask someone out.”

Aziraphale felt as though they’d missed a few steps in the conversation. Elijah continued. “I’m sure you’ve had your share of crushes over the years that you never wanted to talk to your old man about and I’m not here to make you tell me about them now, but I do want to give you some advice if you’ll let me.”

There was, of course, the elephant in the room in regards to Aziraphale’s sexuality and the library of books that Elijah did not know he was currently sitting over, but even if that had all been out in the open this conversation would have been a nonstarter. Aziraphale had had a sum total of one crush in his time in high school and that had been on Mr. Velasquez. There were simply too many children around for him to develop any such attractions.

“I know it can be hard to ask a girl out. It feels like you’re putting everything, your heart, your pride, out on the line. Being turned down can feel devastating, but it’s not any worse than sitting around thinking about what could’ve happened. It’s always worth taking your shot. So, whoever is keeping you up at night, whoever it is that you’re worried about taking to prom, just ask her. At worst, you won’t have to see her again after school is over and at best you might make some memories.”

There was, somewhere in there, a bit of solid advice about regrets and taking chances, but it was buried in all sorts of uncomfortable assumptions. Aziraphale’s natural introversion and perceived shyness had allowed him to avoid too much of this sort of conversation. There were a variety of ways that the Clarks could explain away his lack of romantic interactions without wondering why he’d never brought a girl around the house. It made it easier to ignore his concerns over what they’d actually think of him and not spend so much time thinking about the secrets he kept.

Then something like this would come up and it was as though the web of lies became visible again and he’d remember how careful he had to be all the time. He chose his words with precision. “There really isn’t anyone that I have in mind but thank you for the advice.”

“Right, well, I just didn’t want you missing out because of your worries,” Elijah said as he stood up. He rustled Aziraphale’s hair and smiled at him. “No pressure though.”

He did not doubt that Elijah meant that, but that didn’t make it true. There was a great deal of pressure and he was all too aware of it now. 

* * *

“I mean, I wouldn’t say Pete and I are dating. I mostly asked him because he’s a Junior, so he wouldn’t get to go otherwise. Although, I mean, I wouldn’t hate it if we became a thing. He’s really sweet.” Rachel leaned against her locker, books hugged close to her chest as though she were about to break into song. Aziraphale hoped she wasn’t feeling quite so wistful as she looked. He highly doubted he was the only male member of the drama club who wasn’t particularly interested in girls and Pete would have been his first guess if he only had to choose one other. There had been something about the way he’d sworn to hunt down Jean Valjean that had seemed particularly charged.

“I’m sure you’ll both have fun either way. Molly’s all tied up as well, I presume.”

“Yeah, I was just talking to her in math class. I don’t think she’s gone more than a month between boyfriends since sophomore year, so I never doubted she’d have anybody. And of course Keisha’s got Greg.” Rachel nudged Aziraphale’s sneaker with one of her feet. “You should come too though. It’s like I said, Pete and I are basically just going as friends. We can be a little theater group. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Even if I had a date, you probably wouldn’t want me around. I’m sure I’d be a bit of a- What’s the phrase? Party pooper.” He finished packing his backpack and offered her a self-deprecating smile. “I hear I preemptively and unknowingly ruined a few after cast party plans.”

Rachel laughed. “I heard that too! It’s not your fault if your speech was so good that everyone became self-conscious about binge-drinking and trying drugs instead of like, contributing to the good of humanity or whatever.”

“It certainly wasn’t my intention to ruin anyone’s evening. I don’t approve of doing any of those things to the point of self-destruction, but I don’t know where anyone got the idea that creativity and substance use are mutually exclusive. It’s not a requirement of course, but I can think of a few artists who found them useful.” Aziraphale smiled as she laughed again.

“Look, I promised to help the yearbook committee unpack boxes today so I’ve got to go, but I’m serious, Ezra. We’ll all have more fun if you come with us.”

He waved in lieu of giving a proper answer and then headed down the hall to make his way out of the building. He’d nearly made it when the sound of running feet made him turn. He blinked in surprise as Violet Tanaka skidded to a halt in front of him. They’d never had a conversation longer than a few sentences and he could not imagine what had happened to make her chase him down. For a moment he panicked, thinking something had happened to Anthony before realizing there was no way she would know that first.

“Is everything alright?’

She caught her breath and straightened up. “You’re friends with Keisha, right?”

“Keisha Walker?”

“Dude, our school is like 95% white kids; how many Keishas do you think go here?”

Deciding that there was no human way to explain his general ignorance of cultural naming conventions, he went for the more important question. “Is she alright?”

“She’s crying in the girls’ bathroom and I’m really bad at that stuff. Could you like, come talk to her? I’ll make sure no one walks in and freaks out while you’re there.”

“Of course, lead the way.” They hurried back through the halls, Aziraphale’s mind racing as quickly as his feet. He wondered what could have happened to upset her so. She’d been so happy the last few times they’d talked, at the play and before that when she’d told him in a fit of joyful screams that she’d made it into Julliard’s dance program.

“It’s this one, she’s in there. Just give me a second.” Violet disappeared for a moment into the lavatory and he could hear her shouting, “Hurry up and finish washing your hands already. Can you not read the fucking room?”

A moment later two girls hurried out followed by Violet, who said very politely, “It’s all clear.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale maneuvered passed her and into the bathroom. It was somewhat cleaner than the boys’ room, with pink tile instead of blue and a lack of the expectation that one would be comfortable dropping their trousers in public. Only one of the stalls was closed and Aziraphale could hear the sound of sobbing emanating from within. He spoke in his softest tone. “Keisha, would you like someone to talk to?”

He expected words in response but got, instead, the door swinging open and an armful of distressed adolescent. The shoulder of his shirt was soaked through in short order but he did not care. He held Keisha tightly and gently stroked her hair. “There there, my dear. Let it all out. I’m here as long as you need me.”

“We… we can’t just stay in the bathroom all day. I’m… I’m fine. It’s fine. You can go.”

There was a shout from the hallway. “The bathroom is taken. Go take a piss somewhere else.”

“Perhaps we should clear out, but that needn’t mean you have to be alone. There’s a box of tissues in my father’s car. Would that be a good place to talk?” She looked up at him and nodded with a heavy sniff. He put an arm around her shoulder and escorted her out of the room. He spoke to Violet as they passed. “Thank you for your help. You can let others in now.”

Keisha managed to hold herself together as they walked across campus. The puffiness of her eyes was the only give away that she’d been crying at all. Once she was in the privacy of the passenger seat, however, she burst into tears again, letting out all that she’d been holding in. Aziraphale sat patiently by her side, offering tissues and wishing he had baked goods on hand.

When the torrent slowed, he said in his most gentle voice, “Would you like to tell me what’s got you so upset.”

She sighed heavily. “I found out Greg was cheating on me.”

“The absolute cad!”

For the first time that afternoon Keisha laughed, if only lightly. “I mean, you’re right. He’s such a dick, I shouldn’t be crying over him.”

“You’ve been hurt and betrayed, it’s perfectly understandable that you’d weep. Don’t go getting down on yourself over it.”

“I guess…” She paused, breathing deeply as she gathered her thoughts. “Maybe that’s what I am doing. I keep blaming myself for it. Like, he said he cheated on me because I never spent any time with him and I can’t say that isn’t true. I was always at rehearsal or a recital or a competition. And, like, when I did spend time with him I probably wasn’t any fun. I always had to take care of myself. I’d never go all the way with him or try any drinks or even do something as little as eating junk food with him. I just couldn’t take any risks that might ruin my body, you know? I didn’t want to risk my dreams.”

Aziraphale took one of her hands and gave it a squeeze. “Never apologize for pursuing the things that matter to you. If this stupid boy couldn’t be supportive and understanding of what you were working for than he didn’t deserve to be with you. And if he understood, and couldn’t deal with the time commitment it required, he should have broken things off honestly instead of lying to you. Forget him. The things you’ve achieved will stay with you far longer than some imbecile you dated in high school.”

“Thanks, Ezra,” she said with a watery smile. “I guess I know that. It’s not even… I don’t even think I would have said I was in love with him. I liked being with him. I liked having a boyfriend, but I didn’t imagine it would last after high school. I just… I wish this hadn’t happened now, right before prom. I feel like, I have tried so hard to be perfect and do everything right the whole time I’ve been at this school and then right at the end I’ve messed it up. I don’t have a date and everyone is going to be talking about it. I feel like I let my family down.”

Aziraphale frowned, brows knitting tightly together. He’d understood less and less the longer she’d gone on. “Why would your family be disappointed? Why should anyone care if you’ve got a date or not?”

“I mean, they probably won’t actually be disappointed. It’s just… You know what our school is like. You can count the number of black kids on one hand. It makes me feel like everyone’s watching me all the time, like if I fuck something up everyone is going to make assumptions. Like if I went to party and got crazy drunk or high or something, it’s a stereotype, you know? Everyone is going to think it’s because I’m black. But Gavin or someone does it and no one cares. It’s just ‘kids being kids’.

“I know that’s why my mom was always so hard on me. She knows how tough it is to get by, that I have to be five times as good to get as far as anybody else. So I had to get good grades and keep up with my dance practices. But I felt like even that wouldn’t be enough. I had to be popular and cool but well-behaved and a good example. And I just, I feel like I did it, like I got this far- I got into fucking Juliard- all I had left was to get through prom. And now I’m going as the recently dumped ex-cheerleader. I feel like I’m still not good enough.”

“May I hug you?” Aziraphale asked. She nodded. It wasn’t an easy thing to do in a car, but they managed. It was all Aziraphale felt he had to offer. He could not say he understood, could not wave his hand and make the world a fairer place, but he could offer a hug and that would have to do.

She sniffed against his shoulder. “Thanks for listening, Ezra. I don’t have a lot of people I can talk to about this sort of stuff. My cousins understand some of it, but they don’t live in a town like ours so it’s not quite the same. I figured… I figured you’d understand at least a little bit. Not all of it, maybe not even most of it, but you know what it’s like to not fit in.”

Aziraphale became very still, “What do you… In what way do you mean?”

She pulled back so that they could look at each other properly. A bit of guilt had mixed in with her sorrow and she failed to hold his gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. I probably shouldn’t ask this. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but… Ezra, I sort of… well, I always thought… I always thought you were gay. Maybe not always, but since about eighth grade.”

He blinked, unable to get his thoughts in order. He didn’t know what he should do.

“I never said anything to anybody! And you don’t have to confirm or deny it or anything. It’s not my business. I just, you’ve been so wonderful and listened so well, I just… I’m here to return the favor if you need me.”

She looked so earnestly distressed at the thought of having hurt him and it had been so long, over a lifetime, since he’d been able to discuss this with anyone that he broke his caution. “I’ve never said this aloud but, yes. You’re right. I’m gay.”

Keisha beamed at him. “Thanks for trusting me. Am I really the only one who knows.?”

“You’re the only one I’ve told. Although I’ve gotten coded support from Anthony’s mother over the years. She hasn’t pressured me to say anything.” He folded his hands together neatly in his lap, finding that the more open his words were the more closed off he needed his posture to be. “I suppose Anthony likely knows as well, but I’ve never been entirely certain of that.”

“I know our church can be a little shitty about all that stuff. Are your parents the same way?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? My father’s never preached about any such things from the pulpit but I’ve gotten the sense that neither of them would approve. And, to be honest, I’d rather live with the uncertainty than have that confirmed, so I’ve never pressed the matter. I’m not sure how much longer I can live in that ignorance, however. With all the talk of gay marriage bans on the national stage and civil unions on the state level, I wouldn’t be surprised if the church members start talking about it.”

“If you knew how they felt, would you tell them either way?” He looked up at her, taken off guard by the innocent question. Was that the only reason he’d kept it all a secret? To preserve his ignorance?

“I… Not yet. I’m still dependent on them after all. What if they turn out to be truly awful and would kick me out of the home? Or worse, they’d still profess to love me and try to send me off to one of those corrective facilities.”

Keisha was quiet, mulling that over. “You won’t depend on them for too much longer though, right? I mean, you’re going to turn eighteen in London and get everything your birth parents let you. You’ll be free.”

“I have been thinking that there won’t be any reasons to keep secrets when I’m there. Cities are so much more open about these sorts of things and I’ll be so far from here. But even then I…” he paused to get his bearings. “I don’t think I’d tell my parents just yet, because I might not need them anymore but Anthony and his mother still do. I’m utterly certain that the Jays would both take my side and I couldn’t bare it if they wound up suffering because of a schism I drove between the households. I know Maddy is saving up to move out and I think… I think I’ll be ready to tell my parents once that happens, but I couldn’t do it before.”

“That’s a lot more shit than you should have to worry about.”

“I could say the same thing about you said before. I’m afraid the deck is stacked against us and we’ve both got to do the best with the cards we’re dealt. And I must say we’ve done rather well so far. Top universities, the both of us.”

She smirked. “Still, I’m glad you could talk to me. You shouldn’t have to deal with that all alone.”

“It won’t be much longer. I’ve just got to get through all this prom business without tipping my parents off and then I think I’ve made it passed the hump.”

Keisha clapped her hands together and it made such a loud sound in the little car that Aziraphale practically leapt out of his seat. “We’re so dumb, Ezra! I should have thought of it before!”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Go to prom with me. I won’t feel like I’ve failed at everything and your parents will see you going with a girl so they won’t bother you about it. Even if wasn’t solving any problems, you and I will still have a great time together. And no way in hell any couple’s going to out dance us. Please?” She gave him her best pleading stare, but she needn’t have bothered.

Aziraphale was already sold.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

It wasn’t Friday but the Jays had come over for dinner. Spring was always a busy season at Rossini’s Garden Center, and Edith was worried that Maddy and Tony weren’t getting a balanced diet. She made quite a spread and invited them over.

Aziraphale was pleased with this. It meant that when he shared his news there would be at least one other person present who fully understood what was going on. He waited until they were all properly settled around the table and the meal was underway before clearing his throat.

“Mother, I was wondering if I could have the check you were talking about this weekend. I need to purchase a ticket to the prom.” He said it matter-of-factly, without any further explanation for no other reason than enjoying the fuss he’d caused.

“You decided to go? Oh, Ezra I’m so happy. You’re going to have a great time, even if you go on your own,” Edith told him.

When he didn’t respond immediately, Elijah added, “Are you going alone? Because if you need to get another ticket…”

“I only need the one ticket, thank you. Keisha already has her own.” Aziraphale took a demure bite of his dinner, and enjoyed the renaissance painting of expressions he’d created in the room. The Clarks were looking at one another with unbridled joy, while Maddy was doing her best to meet his eye.

Although, Tony’s expression wasn’t especially amusing. He was just staring flatly at his peas.

“I thought she was going with her boyfriend?” Edith asked.

“She was but he’s a knave and they have broken up. So now the two of us are going together.”

He could have stood for Elijah to look a bit less ecstatic. “This is great, bud. I’m so glad you hung in there. Nice guys finish first. I’ve always said so. She’s a great girl. You two will be the talk of the dance.”

“Does she already have her dress picked out? We’ll need to get her to send us a picture so we can get you something that goes with it,” Edith said.

“Prom has matching outfits?” Aziraphale asked, before realizing that now was probably not the time to seem quite so excited about that. He cleared his throat. “I’ll have to ask her.”

“You don’t have to match exactly. You can get a pocket square or something that just ties them together,” Maddy chimed in. “Dress how you want. I’m she’ll be fine with whatever you pick. I’ve always liked her. She’s cool like that.”

It was all going precisely as planned, right down to Maddy’s additional levels of support. The only thing that didn’t quite fit was Anthony. He looked down right glum sitting at the end of the table. “Is something bothering you?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nothing. I was just… I was just thinking how long it is until my prom. I mean, you’ll be like…” There was a pause as he did mathematics in his head, “Twenty-three by the time I have prom.”

“Why does it matter how old _I’ll_ be?”

“It doesn’t!” The boy seemed angrier over the confusion than seemed reasonable. “I only… I was trying to show how long it’ll be.”

“Oh, well, saying you’ll be eighteen has the same effect.”

“I was just saying.”

Anthony now looked glum, angry and embarrassed all at once. Thirteen was truly a miserable year and Aziraphale had done nothing to make it better. “I’m sorry for nitpicking, dear. Would it help if I invited you to go shopping with us? You could help me pick out something to wear.”

“Help you… pick…?” He zoned out a moment and then he shook his head vociferously. “Buying clothes is boring. But, uh, thanks for offering.”

It had been an emotionally draining day and Aziraphale did not have the starch left to unpick whatever was going on with Anthony. He accepted the apology and moved on.

* * *

June 2004

Ezra had been gone for hours. Tony hadn’t had a chance to see him before he left. He’d had to leave early, to go pick Keisha up at her house, and then there’d been a long drive to whatever hotel ballroom the school had rented out for the occasion.

It was bad enough that Ezra was out having fun without him, but Tony was stuck with the lamest evening ever, playing board games with his mother and the Clarks. The only benefit to Ezra’s absence was that Tony actually had a chance to win at some of the games, but he was wasting it by being distracted. He kept thinking about the dance and trying to remind himself that Ezra didn’t actually _like_ Keisha. They were just friends. He didn’t have any reason to be jealous.

But he was jealous. They’d be dancing whether Ezra was attracted to her or not. He’d hold her tightly in his arms and they’d laugh and smile at one another in their stupid matching outfits. Tony would never have that, not at his own high school dances. If there was a god, he ought to have thought it through better and made them the same age. Nothing about this was fair.

“He ought to be back soon, I think,” Edith said, glancing at the clock. “There’s a Post-Prom at the school afterward, with bouncy castles and raffles and games to keep the kids out of trouble. He’ll need to stop here first to get changed again.”

Trouble, Tony knew, had a different meaning for high school seniors than it did for seventh graders. It meant having babies and getting into drunken car wrecks rather than drawing crude depictions of dicks in the corner of your math text. He didn’t think they needed to worry about Ezra either way. He was about as likely to get a girl knocked up as he was to deface a book. 

There was the sound of a car outside and Tony immediately abandoned _Clue_ to head out the door. None of the adults stopped him. They’d expected it the same way you’d expect two magnets to click together when you let go.

They met beneath the porchlight and Tony swallowed heavily. He had never seen Ezra look so handsome. The suit (jacket, pants, and vest) were all the same baby blue as his eyes. The bow tie had, of course, a tartan pattern in various shades of blue and a small white carnation had been inserted through the button hole. Any other teenage boy would have looked disheveled after three hours at his prom, but Ezra would never sink to such lows. He was as put together as he ever was, only his halo of curls was anything but immaculate, and those were perfect in their own way.

Tony was wearing a Dragon Ball Z t-shirt that he’d stained that night at dinner.

“How’d it go?” he managed.

“Just wonderful! Just wonderful!” Ezra beamed at him, before hurrying into the house. Tony followed after, dogging at his heels.

The adults all stood and peppered him with questions the moment he walked through the door.

“I really don’t have much time to talk. I need to be back at Keisha’s in half an hour so that we can head over to the school to meet Rachel and Pete there. I really am so glad I went, though. I had an absolutely wonderful time. The music wasn’t my taste, of course, but the dancing was fun. There was even a bit of a competition that Keisha and I won! Not the King and Queen business, but an impromptu dancing competition. I couldn’t quite keep up with Keisha but I suspect I did better job at that than any other boy there would have. Oh, and the food was really quite lovely. Our table was mostly from the theater department which made all the conversation easy. Keisha was a little nervous about not having anything to say at first, she was afraid it would all be recaps of old shows, but you tell a group of theater students that you’re attending Julliard and see if they won’t hang on your every word. And the desserts! There was cake and these exquisite little pastries. Oh, just lovely. And Rachel told me they’ve hired a stage magician for the Post-Prom activities. I haven’t seen a proper stage magician since the eightee… the eighth birthday of one of my friends back in London. I couldn’t be more excited.”

It was a lot of talking for someone who’d begun with ‘I really don’t have much time to talk’, but he did manage to cover it all at quite a rapid pace before scurrying up the stairs. Tony followed him, although he had nothing to do but stand pointlessly out in the hallway while Ezra changed into his regular clothing. Then there was nothing to do but follow him back out and all the way to his car to say goodbye.

“I’m glad you had fun. You’ll have to tell me more about it tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will. And I’ll have more to tell by then too.” Ezra stopped himself before getting into the car to beam again at Tony. “I’m not going to tell you that the coming years are going to be easy, because they’re not. Oh, but Tony there’s so much joy awaiting you too! I can’t wait for you to experience it all.”

Tony forced himself to smile back and to wave as Ezra sped away at the very reasonable speed at which he always drove. He really was glad that Ezra was enjoying himself, but he couldn’t imagine it would ever be the same for him. He knew exactly how his own perfect prom night ought to go and he knew already, five years prior, that it was never going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're feeling it: Here's an article about prom songs in 2004- https://www.cleveland.com/entertainment/2018/05/take_that_rewind_it_back_the_p.html


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning:  
> Body image issues (specifically late bloomer frustrations)
> 
> This week marks the one year anniversary! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s been reading, leaving kudos and especially those of you who take the time to leave comments. Having this project and knowing people have been enjoying it has helped in what has been an otherwise hellish year.

This wasn’t much of a graduation party, Tony knew that just from the invitations Ezra had received. He’d gotten at least a dozen of them, all for dates in the few weeks following the end of school. They were all neatly designed and promised late nights, pool access, and high end catering. Ezra had put most of them in the trash after penning his formal regrets, leaving only those of his old dance friends up on the Clarks’ refrigerator. Those each came down after he made an appearance at their parties, the last of which had been just two days ago. Today was Ezra’s own celebration and it didn’t quite measure up to those he’d attended.

It wasn’t simply the lack of pool, hired DJ, or alcohol squirrelled away for after the sun went down- it was the paltry number of guests. Ezra had originally wanted nothing more than a small dinner with his parents and the Jays. Even after he’d been pressed, he had only expanded the circle to include Keisha, Rachel, and Molly. On one hand it meant that there was less competition for Ezra’s attention, on the other: this was all incredibly lame.

“This is actually kind of nice after all the ragers I’ve been to lately. It’s relaxing. Thanks for doing your own thing, Ezra.” Molly raised aloft her pink lemonade and the girls all clinked their glasses together. They were seated at the same folding chair and card table setup that the Clarks always used for outdoor get togethers. The adults were still inside getting dinner ready and giving the recent graduates some time to talk. 

Tony, uncertain if he was allowed in that world or not, was perched on the Clarks’ front stoop just a little way off. He had his guitar with him, but not the amp, and was practicing the chords for something that he’d written himself. He knew it wasn’t very good and he was glad that no one else could hear it. 

“I still can’t believe I won’t be seeing you guys next year,” Rachel said, for what was at least the third time that day. “Molly’s going down south, Keisha will be in New York, and Ezra’s going all the way across the ocean! It’s the end of an era.”

“Just because you’re in the same state doesn’t mean you’re going to be hanging around town yourself. I mean, hell, New York City is closer to Westwich than Hartford is.” Keisha rolled her eyes, but the expression quickly melted into a smile, “And anyway, you’ll join every group on campus and be friends with everyone at Trinity before the first week is up.”

When Rachel wasn’t lifted by this, Ezra joined in with gentle support. “It’ll only be four months before we’ll all be back for the winter holiday. I’m sure we’ll meet up.”

“I wonder how different we’ll all be by then,” Molly said and the whole table got quiet.

On the stoop, Tony stopped playing his soundless music, because that was a question that had been bothering him as well. He wanted Ezra to go off and be happy and comfortable and learn all sorts of things. And we wanted Ezra to come back exactly the same. 

But he was starting to worry that wouldn’t happen. Even now, in these past few weeks, it felt like everything was changing. Ezra already seemed to be slipping away into some new part of life that Tony could not reach. He’d been ready for the ocean to divide them, but this was something else entirely. 

His musings and the melancholy bent of the music no one else could hear, were shorty interrupted by the arrival of adults with food. Tony was drafted into helping set the table and before long the evening arrived, bringing dinner, cake, and a number of presents. 

It was all the practical, expensive things, that Ezra would need for college: a lap top, a cellphone with an international plan, a promise to go shopping for bed sheets and a new wardrobe. With every item, Ezra seemed to slip further away.

He looked so happy, grateful for his gifts and surrounded by his friends. Tony felt very small and distant at his own end of the table. He nearly missed it when Ezra finally got to his own gift (personalized stationery with tartan theming).

“Oh, Anthony, it’s absolutely beautiful! Thank you.” He put a hand against his heart and positively beamed. 

Tony squirmed. It didn’t seem fair that he could blush and feel sad at the same time. He stared at his hands, “I figured since you suck at AIM and stuff you might want to write letters or something.”

Ezra laughed. “I would like that very much, but only if you promise to write back to me. Would you?”

Tony nodded. Communicating via mail seemed like a weird thing to do in 2004, but if Ezra wanted to he wasn’t about to say no. Besides, there was something kind of romantic about the idea of writing letters, even if it’d mostly just be the two of them talking about school. Tony hoped his face wasn’t too pink. 

“That’s the last of the gifts, bud. I’m sure we’ll think of other things you’ll need before the end of August, but we can always pick those up later!” Elijah smiled at his son. “Congratulations again, I hope you know how proud we are of you.” 

“Is there anything else you would have wanted?” Edith asked. 

“No. I’m ready for all the fuss of graduation and parties to be over, actually. I’m looking forward to a more restful summer before all the changes begin.”

“You don’t want to do anything big with your last high school summer?” Rachel asked him.

Ezra shook his head. “Nothing in particular. Mostly I… Well, I was hoping Tony might condescend to spend most of the summer with me. That’s all I really want before I go. If you wouldn’t mind terribly.”

Tony blinked. He’d already been imagining Ezra spending the days talking about college with his friends, all of them focused on what was to come, already forgetting the lives they’d leave behind. But Ezra was smiling at him, looking almost nervous to have made the request. 

“Course I will!” said Tony. His mind was already racing, creating a list of things he wanted to do together before the summer ended. Ezra was smiling, perfect and angelic as ever.

Tony retitled the list as ‘All the Things They  _ Should _ Do Together’. There were some things on the list of things he  _ wanted _ to do that were best saved for the lyrics of songs he’d never share with anyone.

* * *

August 2004

While they had been in it, July had felt gloriously long and unending. Aziraphale had spent every day in Anthony’s company, filling out the list of odds and ends that the boy had decided were important to do before their shared youth officially came to a close. 

Aziraphale read to him, all the books he’d always meant to share.  _ Great Expectations _ ,  _ The Three Musketeers _ , and even  _ The Wind in the Willows _ , which Anthony had not fully appreciated when he was six-years-old. Anthony shared some of his record collection, picking a few of the more lyrical musicians that he thought Aziraphale might not hate. He’d done a good job of it too. Aziraphale found the Beatles quite delightful, at least the albums Tony had shared, and he’d  _ been  _ enjoying the Velvet Underground- despite what Crowley had said so long ago- until Anthony abruptly turned it off and said that he wouldn’t like the rest of it.

It had been an odd bit of de ja vu.

But one odd moment did not a summer ruin. They had spent one evening capturing fireflies and another simply looking at the stars. They’d completed an ongoing jigsaw puzzle with the Clarks and spent an entire day doing nothing but watching old Hollywood musicals in their pajamas. They walked the town, they fed the ducks, they talked of the past and said very little about the future. They wiled away the days until somehow July was over and August was underway.

It was only a couple weeks now until Anthony was back at school and shortly after Aziraphale would be leaving him. There was just one thing left that made that feel far away. The Clarks had rented a house by the water in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. They would be spending the week there and, until that was over, Aziraphale could convince himself that the end was not quite nigh. 

Maddy had saved her vacation days and so, as they had before the camping trip so many years ago, the five of them all crammed into Edith’s minivan and prepared for an endless drive. They would be traveling farther this year and facing far worse traffic, but oddly it was all less miserable. 

Perhaps, somewhere in the intervening six years, they’d all become more comfortable with each other, perhaps time had changed them all as individuals, or perhaps they were all better off now that Anthony was old enough to make all the music choices. He’d loaded up his iPod with choices perfectly cultivated for the group. The entire soundtrack to  _ Jesus Christ Superstar _ had been a particularly well considered pick. ‘Religious rock musical’ hit at least one interest for everyone in the car. 

He had also, of course, included all of  _ Les Miserables _ . Even without the songs that didn’t make the album, that kept them entertained for well over two hours. 

It was really only in the final stretch that any of them began to get tetchy. There was something about being close and then getting stuck in bumper to bumper traffic that would put anyone on edge. Aziraphale could not help but think that maybe having every rental property change over at the same time of the week was a poor choice.

But they all calmed down again once they’d crossed the bridge and made it onto the Cape proper. The closer they got to their destination the more there was to see: miniature golf courses, delightfully kitschy little store fronts, and so many sea food restaurants that Aziraphale’s stomach began to rumble. 

Eventually they rolled into the driveway of a picturesque cottage, its natural clapboard weathered an uneven grey. The front stoop was pleasantly framed by a lush cluster of hydrangea bushes, still quite beautiful if a few weeks past their prime. The Clarks had not been able to afford a rental right on the beach, but the briny scent of sea air that greeted Aziraphale when he opened the car door was a reminder that the ocean was just a short walk away. 

As Elijah went to fuss with a lock box by the front door to access the key, the rest of them unloaded their bags in short order. It was an easier job than it had been at that cabin so many years ago, when Anthony had barely been big enough to carry his own backpack. Still, there were aspects of those days that Aziraphale found he missed. 

Anthony didn’t run through the house with the same unbridled curiosity he’d had at age seven.

In fact, as they entered, Anthony seemed almost nervous. As the adults looked around the cozy living room and the oddly-shaped eat-in kitchen, Anthony lingered by the staircase. “Are all the bedrooms upstairs?”

Elijah glanced over, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’m trying to remember from their email. I think there’s only two upstairs. The other is by the bathroom off the back of the living room.”

“Which one are Ezra and I staying in…?”

“We’ll have to take a look and figure it out.” Elijah waved for them all to follow, and they dropped their luggage where they stood to go exploring. The downstairs quarters contained a queen sized bed, although the room was hardly large enough to accommodate it. Between it and the ancient dresser in the corner, there was just enough space to walk in single file.

“This isn’t ours, is it?” Anthony’s voice was very high and so was the color of his cheeks.

“It might be,” Maddy said. “But let’s see what’s upstairs first. I don’t mind taking this one if there’s a better fit for you two. I’d kind of like having my own floor.”

So up they all went, one after another on the old wood steps. The second floor was smaller than the first, just three doors and a small landing. They found the bathroom right off, then another queen sized bed, this time in a room better suited to it. Anthony, looking pale now, went to the third door and swung it wide open.

They all heard his laughter before they got close enough to see inside. 

“Bunkbeds! Ezra, there’re bunkbeds!” 

He had not known the boy had harbored a love of such sleeping accommodations but he seemed almost deliriously happy about them. He’d already scrambled up the ladder and thrown himself, belly first, onto the upper mattress.

“You haven’t even taken your shoes off yet!” Aziraphale scolded him.

“What do you care? It’s not like you were gonna argue for the top bunk anyway. You’d say it was undignified or something.”

Aziraphale eyed the distance between the top bunk and the ceiling. “Well, it isn’t very dignified having to squeeze in like that. I just don’t think you should get dirt in the nice clean sheets.”

A pair of black sneakers rained down from above.

“Tony!” Maddy said from the doorway, “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Sorry,” Anthony responded, although he didn’t sound as though he meant it.

“Well, I think it’s clear where we’ll all be sleeping,” said Edith. “Why don’t we go get all the bags and unpack properly? Then we can see if there’s a list of restaurants somewhere so we can decide where to go to eat!”

The last thing any of them had had to eat was some McDonalds at a rest stop on the side of the high way many hours ago. The idea of having something more substantial put some fire into everyone’s step and they all scrambled to get their luggage. 

Aziraphale carefully unpacked his things, loading various outfits into the dresser drawer provided in the room. Anthony had evidently decided that there was no reason not to live straight out of his luggage. He set his bag by the foot of the bed and then entertained himself by studying all the nautically themed art on the walls.

“Ezra, look.”

Exactly what could be so interesting about another framed picture of a lighthouse, Aziraphale wasn’t certain. He glanced up and found that Anthony had gravitated instead toward the front window. After putting the last of his bowties away, Aziraphale went to join him.

“What is it, dear?”

“If you stand just right here and you look kind off to the side, so that you’re looking down the street. Do you see where I’m looking?”

“I think so.”

“Right. That’s the ocean, right? Down at the end there?” 

Aziraphale squinted and caught a glimpse of light flashing off some distant surface. He smiled. “I think you just might be right.”

They stood in silence, enjoying their meager view. Anthony was standing closer than he’d allowed himself to do in quite some time. He’d been so physically withdrawn since his thirteenth birthday, that Aziraphale could only assume he just hadn’t noticed how near they were now. Out of respect for the boy’s growing independence, Aziraphale took a step back.

Something occurred to him. “Did you not want to share a room with me?”

“Huh? Why’d you think that? I mean, we slept over each other’s houses like half the summer.” 

“It’s only… you seemed so nervous about the arrangements. It’s alright if you don’t want to. One of us could set up on the couch or-”

“No,” Anthony interrupted. He was becoming quite red again. “It’s not the room, I just… I just didn’t want to share a bed, is all. I mean, I know we did when I was little. But it’s not… It’s not the same anymore. You know?”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, trying not to miss the innocent child that Anthony had been. 

“But like, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be around you. I mean I still lo- like you. We’re still best friends. We’ll always be best friends.” The innocence came back for a moment, “Right?”

“Of course, dear. No matter where I go.” The smile he got in return was worth all the adolescent awkwardness that had led up to it.

* * *

It was summer, Tony was a teenager, he had a right to sleep in late as he could. He’d hoped Ezra would too, but Edith started cooking bacon at 8:30 in the morning and the siren song of it sizzling coaxed him out of bed. Ezra rustled around the room getting dressed for the day and keeping Tony from falling back to sleep.

He did keep his eyes shut though. Ezra deserved his privacy and besides, Tony was afraid that, if he got a glimpse of the older boy changing, his crush might reach some untold new level. There were certain types of fantasies he simply wasn’t ready for yet. 

So it wasn’t until Ezra had left the room that Tony gave up on sleep and groggily climbed the ladder down from his bunk. He was the last one to arrive at the kitchen table, though he wasn’t the only one in his bedclothes. All the adults were still in some combination of pajamas and bathrobes. Ezra looked a bit out of place, all combed and buttoned up for the day.

Tony gave a surly ‘good morning’ to everyone gathered and received more energetic greetings in response. It didn’t seem fair that they should be so awake before noon and he decided it was because they were all cheating. They all had steaming mugs of caffeine in front of them. All Tony got was orange juice.

Still, after some eggs and bacon, he was able to stop yawning so much and enjoy the fact that they were actually on vacation.

“The weather is supposed to be great today. 85 degrees and sunny,” Elijah announced over the top of the morning newspaper. “Might be a good day for the beach. The middle of the week is looking iffy.”

“God, I can’t remember the last time I just went and spent a day on the sand” Maddy sighed contentedly, as though she were already there. “We’ve got sunscreen, right?”

“Yup. Towels and snacks and sunglasses and sunscreen.”

“Good. I burn in, like, five seconds. Tony lasts a little longer, but not much.”

She was looking at him now, expecting a simple response. Instead, Tony frowned at his empty plate. “I don’t really want to go to the beach. Can’t I just stay here?”

They were all looking at him now- his mother, the Clarks, Ezra. Maddy was the one who spoke. “You don’t… you don’t want to go? How come?”

It wasn’t something he wanted to explain to everyone there. He didn’t want to talk about how self-conscious he felt in a bathing suit. How it made him feel scrawny and small and unappealing. So he shrugged and said, “It’s just kind of boring. I don’t mind hanging out here. You guys can go read in the sun or whatever.”

Now they all looked at each other. Tony could feel them turning this into something bigger than it was, but then Ezra took a long sip of his tea and said, easily, “There are plenty of other things to do on a lovely day, besides sit by the water. If you all are walking to the beach, I could take Tony out somewhere. We could try out one of the miniature golfing courses.”

“You wouldn’t mind missing out on the water?” Edith asked him.

“Oh, I would like a chance to enjoy the seaside, but I think an evening stroll after most of the crowds have gone sounds a bit more appealing, personally. So, you three can go enjoy yourselves and we’ll get up to bit of fun elsewhere.”

Tony waited to see if the adults would allow this. Ezra was going off to college soon and he could see them wanting to keep him close. Elijah closed his paper and set it on the table. “You know what? Mini golf actually sounds like a lot of fun to me. Maddy, Edith, you two go relax. Have a nice a teenage free day and I’ll take these two out for a round of golf and some ice cream.”

“Sure!” Maddy said. “That all right with you, Tony?”

Tony nodded. Mini golf was about the closest thing to a sport he actually enjoyed and any guilt he felt over taking Ezra away from a day reading on the beach was outweighed by the prospect of Ezra having ice cream. 

Two hours later, when breakfast had been cleaned up and everyone was dressed, the ‘men’ all climbed into the car as the women headed off with their beach bags toward the sea. The rental house had all sorts of flyers and brochures available, and they’d already searched through all of them for ideal place to go. There were enough miniature golf courses to keep them busy for the entire trip, but only one that Tony immediately decided he needed to see. 

There was a pirate themed golf course.

He was too old for it, really, but something in him got stupidly excited when they arrived. There was a mountain, dripping with waterfalls, a pond full of ships afloat or sunken. There were sharks and buccaneers, caves and winding paths. It was all fake, of course, mostly plaster and plastic, dotted with putting greens. If Tony laughed enough at how cheesy it was, perhaps no one would notice just how much he enjoyed it. 

After picking up their rented clubs and choosing their golf balls (green for Elijah, baby blue for Ezra, and black for Tony) they set out to hole number one. There was a bit of a wait already, a family with small children was in front of them, so Tony leaned against the front fence and wished for shade. He’d put on long pants that morning and a black t-shirt, neither of which were appropriate for a day beneath the hot sun. He could already tell he was going to regret his clothing choices long before they reached the eighteenth hole.

“I used to go golfing with my friends back in seminary, let’s see if I’ve still got it,” Elijah said as the group before them moved on. He set his green ball down on the AstroTurf and lined up his shot. The ball glided gently and landed a few inches beside the hole. He grinned. “Try and best that.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, before taking his turn. His face remained expertly calm as he swung and sent the blue ball straight home. Then he couldn’t help but look a little smug.

Elijah wasn’t bothered for a moment. He seemed thrilled, “Wow! Ezra! Was that beginner’s luck or have you been holding out on me?”

“The game was invented in Great Britain, you know.”

“Why does it matter where it was invented?” Tony asked. “Besides, I’d bet money  _ mini _ golf is American.”

Ezra took a moment to look out at the plaster mountain, plastic pirates, and speakers piping badly orchestrated sea shanties across the course. “I wouldn’t want to bet against you in that. Now, go on Tony. It’s your turn.”

If beginner’s luck were a thing, Tony did not possess it. Even on the first hole he swung too hard and had the ball come back across half the green. Elijah quickly knocked his ball in and got par. Tony had to take four strokes before it ended. 

They went on from there, Elijah and Ezra in a dead heat, first one winning then the next. Tony was abysmal, but he didn’t mind particularly. It was more fun to look around at all the theming anyway. There were signs around with information about pirates who’d lived hundreds of years ago and the occasional animatronic cracking bad jokes. He could end up a thousand over par and he’d still be enjoying himself, if only he weren’t so hot.

At last they made it to the eighteenth hole and Tony watched as his ball disappeared into a tube beneath the ground. There was a grate by the club return and, when he looked down into it, he saw his ball drop into a little basket where the workers would collect it later. The girl who took their clubs back smiled prettily at Ezra then condescendingly at Tony, before handing him a cardboard pirate hat, a small plastic flag, and a temporary tattoo. That Ezra looked old enough to flirt with and Tony looked young enough for the free goodies was a stab in the heart. Still, that wasn’t going to stop him from putting that skull and cross bones tattoo on when he got the chance.

They joined Elijah on a bench by the exit, where he was tabulating their final scores. There wasn’t any shade here, there had barely been any all day, and Tony put his head in his hands. 

“Is everything alright, Anthony?”

“Yeah, it’s just… we’re getting ice cream next, right?”

Elijah didn’t look up. “Yup, we’re getting ice cream next. They sell some at the little restaurant and gift shop over in the parking lot. We can check it out there. Just let me finish this up here… Ah, Ez, you beat me by three!”

Then Elijah sniffed. Tony and Ezra looked at him in shock. Only Tony was rude enough to speak, “Are you  _ crying _ because you lost?”

“I’m not… I’m not crying. I’m just. I’m tearing up a little.” Elijah laughed at himself, and wiped at his eyes. “And either way it’s not because I lost. I just thought that maybe Ezra and I should go real golfing sometime and then I remembered there won’t be any time for that. You’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh,” said Ezra. He did not seem to know what to say. He twisted his hands and flushed and looked at his feet. “I’ll be back next summer. We can go then. It sounds like rather a lovely time.”

“It’s not about the golf, buddy. I’m gonna miss you.” Elijah gave his son a hug, leaving Tony feeling a bit left out on the end of the bench. “But, it’s no use moping in the time we’ve got. Come on, let’s go get some ice cream.”

There was a path, straight from golf course to gift shop, marked along the way with peg legged footprints to show them where to go. It was almost impressive, for what it was. Tony had not known there was so much pirate themed merchandise to be acquired, but if it existed they had it. There were toys, plastic swords and playmobile sets, but also books and real antiques, along with more t-shirts than seemed reasonable. 

While Ezra and Elijah debated whether they ought to get lunch from the limited menu of fried foods available here or go somewhere else, Tony went to find something worth buying. They’d made a decision by the time he came back with a shirt clutched in his arms. 

“We’re going to eat here, Tony, before we get ice cream. Do you want some chicken nuggets or a hamburger? That’s kind of all they’ve for options,” Elijah said.

“Burger’s fine. Can I get this?”

Elijah looked at the bundle of cloth. “Can you show it to me?”

Tony huffed, he rolled his eyes, and then unveiled the shirt. He knew right away this wasn’t going to fly, just from the way Ezra and Elijah looked at one another. It was Ezra who spoke first, in carefully clipped tones. “Anthony, dear, why do you want a shirt that says, ‘Time flies when you’re having rum’.”

“I’m pretty sure we can find you something a little more age appropriate,” Elijah added, “And probably something closer to your size too.”

“Yeah, in like bright blue with something cartoony on it. I don’t want to wear something for little kids. I’m sick of looking like one!” It had come out more angrily than he’d meant it too, his frustration too obvious for him to play it off as though he didn’t care. 

“Tony, I can’t let you get that shirt. It’s not appropriate for your age and I think it might make your mom really uncomfortable. You know she doesn’t drink anymore.”  _ That _ little bit of guilt tripping was enough to get Tony to shove the shirt onto the nearest shelf. “Now, let’s get some food and we’ll have a little talk, alright?”

Sitting at a table in the shape of ship’s wheel wasn’t exactly the place where Tony wanted to have a serious conversation, but it seemed he was out of luck. As he bit sullenly into a fry, Elijah put on his caring pastor voice. “Now, Tony, do you want to talk about what’s got you so frustrated?”

“No. Not really,” he said honestly.

It wasn’t enough for Ezra, “Does it have anything to do with you not wanting to go to the beach this morning?” 

Tony’s eyes snapped up. Why did Ezra have to know him so goddamned well? “What makes your think that?”

“Well, it’s just… you’ve always seemed to like the water before. You enjoyed the lake at church camp and your friend Ryan’s swimming pool. It seemed odd for you not to want to spend some time playing in the ocean.” Ezra was looking at him, all kind and worried. It made Tony feel all the more miserable. He stabbed one of his fries into his ketchup.

“I… It’s nothing I didn’t say before. I’m sick of looking like a little kid.”

Elijah, unfortunately, was keeping up with the conversation. “So, going to the beach makes you feel immature? Is that it? Do you not like wearing your bathing suit?”

Bullseye. Tony hoped the accuracy wasn’t obvious from his expression, but it must have been. Ezra immediately began to fuss. “Oh, you shouldn’t let anyone make you feel badly. If you’d like to go swimming, you go swimming. Just ignore everybody else.”

“Why should I?  _ You _ don’t,” Tony deflected. He didn’t pay enough attention to his own words to blush when he added, “And you’d probably look great in a bathing suit.”

“Anthony,” Ezra said softly. “I’ve always just been a buttoned up sort. I like the way I look when everything’s put together. There’s nothing wrong with dressing in a way that makes you feel good about yourself, but it’s also silly to avoid doing something you enjoy because you’re worried about how you’ll look. That’s no way to go through life.”

“Ezra’s right. If you actually think the beach is boring, that’s one thing. But if you want to go and you don’t want to wearing a bathing suit, just wear a t-shirt too. That’s fine. I remember being thirteen. You’re extra aware of yourself and everyone around you, and that’s uncomfortable. If a t-shirt makes you more comfortable than wear one.” Elijah put a hand on his shoulder. “Does that seem reasonable?”

It must have, because Tony remembered saying the same thing to Ezra when Ezra was fourteen. He could throw on a t-shirt and be done with it, and then Ezra wouldn’t miss his time reading by the beach just because he was worried Tony would need company. Besides, if he found a big enough t-shirt maybe he wouldn’t look so scrawny and small compared to everybody else. 

“I guess that’d be alright. I do kind of want to go swimming,” Tony admitted. “But do you think Mom and Edith will want to go again?”

“I rather think we’re going to have to pull them off the sand each evening,” Ezra joked, but his eyes didn’t quite twinkle. He was still watching Tony, as though he were trying to figure out how to make everything better.

* * *

Tony had been lying when he said he didn’t like the beach. It wasn’t just the water that he’d been missing, it was everything. He liked the sand, the sun, the seagulls scavenging for tourist food. Now that he was here, he lay happily on his back, face up towards warmth and the light. He had his eyes closed tightly.

“Are you trying to get a tan, kiddo?” his mother asked, incredulous.

He couldn’t blame her. Tanning in an AC/DC t-shirt wasn’t particularly common. “I just like the heat when I don’t have to move in it. It sucks when you’re doing something, but it isn’t so bad when you can go to sleep.”

“Well, if it gets too hot, come back under the umbrella. And I’m going to make you put on more sunscreen in an hour. I don’t want you to burn.”

Tony tilted his head back to get a better look. His mother and the Clarks were all tucked under an umbrella, with a cooler, beach chairs, towels, and books. He tried not to look too long. Ezra was all stretched out on one of the chairs, his light, buttoned t-shirt undone more than usual. It made Tony want to bury his head in the sand and keep it there because he didn’t know how else to feel. 

They spent the first hour that way. Everyone else reading, while Tony basked in the heat of the day. He did actually manage to nod off for a bit and, when he woke, he found he was no longer comfortable. He was hot and sweaty. The ocean beckoned.

But he just kept thinking about his shirt, how it would get water logged and heavy, how it would stick to him when he got back out. There weren’t any good options. Maybe he’d just go wade in up to his ankles. 

He turned toward his mother. “I’m gonna go down to the water, okay?”

“Sure. Have fun and make sure you stay in eye shot.”

Tony began to stand but froze when Ezra shut his book. “I think I’ll go with you. I could use a dip.”

That was alright, great even. At least until Ezra began to unbutton his shirt. Tony could feel himself turning increasingly red as his brain unhelpfully forgot everything other than the fact that Ezra had chest hair. Half a thought managed to get out of his mouth, in a squeak, “What are you doing?!”

Ezra blinked at him. “Well, I was thinking about the conversation we had yesterday. And, while I may be more comfortable buttoned up, generally speaking, it would be easier to swim in just the trunks. I told you it was silly to let fear of how you look to others keep you from doing what you’d like to do, and it would be hypocritical of me not to take my own advice. Hence the lack of shirt.”

He paused, a moment, and looked at Tony’s scandalized face. “But don’t feel any pressure to follow suit. Father was right about early adolescence being difficult. It’s like your brain chemistry is hellbent on lying to you about how much attention everyone else is paying.”

Tony desperately hoped this was true, because right now he felt as though everyone on the beach must be watching his brain melt out his ears. He was flushed, not only because he was looking at Ezra without a shirt, but because he felt like everyone was looking at him look at Ezra without a shirt. 

And Ezra was smiling, gently, beatifically. He’d been worrying about Tony’s self-esteem and had come up with what he thought was a helpful act of comradery. He had no idea the entirely unrelated discomfort he had caused. This did not make Tony want to take his shirt off. It made him want to wear twenty thousand more t-shirts, because Ezra was grown up and handsome and Tony was not.

Still, he couldn’t just curl up as a ball of useless, aimless, quivering puppy love. Ezra would be disappointed. So he tried to say something, managed, “Ngk.” And then turned and walked toward the water. Ezra followed after him. 

“Oh, the water is  _ cold _ , isn’t it?” Ezra said, after dipping in a toe. “I don’t suppose it’s better if you go all in…”

“Dunno. Just gonna wade,” Tony choked out. He went far enough in that the water was starting to push the hem of his overlong swim trunks up above his knobby knees. He stood there, hating them, until Ezra waded by. 

Tony looked up to watch. He went out until the water was up to his belly button and then let himself drop down, ducking his head beneath the ocean’s surface. He popped up a moment later, laughing at himself.

“It’s better actually, after you’ve gone through with it.” Ezra’s smile broadened. “Yes, much better now. The water is lovely, Anthony. I promise. Come swim with me.”

Tony hesitated, but perhaps a sodden shirt would be worth it. Ezra did look happy out in the water, sun shining on his hair, glasses abandoned back on the beach. Besides, if they went in deeper, he wouldn’t actually be able to see that Ezra wasn’t wearing a shirt, and then he could pretend everything was normal.

So he went. He went out far enough to drop under and come spluttering up to the surface. Far enough for them to swim together, to splash and laugh until he’d forgotten to be uncomfortable about Ezra’s shirt or his own knees. It became nothing but games and joy and the same sort of innocent fun that they had shared together for Tony’s entire life.

And that comfort remained as they made their way back toward the sand. It was easier to ignore Ezra’s chest when they were teasing one another about the way their hair had plastered to their foreheads and the sand stuck to their toes. He only had to make it back across the hot sand to their parents and then they’d both be wrapped in towels and pleasantly tired until it was time to go back home.

He’d nearly made it to, when he tripped in a hole some idiot kid had dug and left as a trap for unsuspecting vacationers. Tony began to fall, he was going to land face first in the sand and come up covered in it. It would have been embarrassing, but it would have been better than what actually happened. 

Ezra caught him, Ezra pulled him up, and for a moment Tony was touching far more bare skin than he was mentally equipped to handle. He jumped back, with an ungainly noise and nearly staggered into his mother.

“Woah, there Tony, chill out. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” There was no good explanation.

“Did you not realize it was me who caught you?” Ezra asked. That was a good explanation.

Tony clung to it. “Uh, yeah, just for a second. But enough to freak out, I guess.”

Ezra seemed to accept this, as did the Clarks. Edith tossed Tony a towel and went back to her book. But Maddy was still looking at him, with far too much intensity.

“You sure that’s all?”

He nodded and she let it go. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.piratescove.net/
> 
> Pirate golf is real.


End file.
